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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26060191">My Body's Made of Crushed Little Stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciousmollymaukery/pseuds/viciousmollymaukery'>viciousmollymaukery</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Animal Death, Angst, Blood and Injury, Body Dysmorphia (mentioned), Canon-Typical Violence, Disassociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Fairy Tale Setting, Fantasy Racism, Fantasy Violence, Fantasy setting, Flashbacks, Imprisonment, Institutionalization (mentioned), M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Stardust AU, The Inherent Eroticism of Kidnapping, slowburn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:15:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26060191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciousmollymaukery/pseuds/viciousmollymaukery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Determined to win back the heart (and help) of Astrid, his childhood love, Bren Aldric Ermedrud sets out to bring her a fallen star. Little does he know that the cosmos have much more in store for him, and his whole world, and then some, is changed forever.</p><p>(Or, Shadowgast, but a Stardust AU)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>134</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I promised this on my tumblr (also @viciousmollymaukery) a while ago and I am very pleased to say it's finally here! I have a fairly firm outline and decent backlog of chapters where I feel comfortable starting to post things, though I have no idea at this point what my update schedule is going to look like. </p><p>Before jumping in, just a few quick things:</p><p>1. I try to blend the worlds of the Stardust setting and Exandria as best I can in terms of lore, backstories, characterization, etc. If any of you haven't watched the Stardust movie or read the book, I highly recommend both in general because they're amazing, but prior knowledge isn't strictly necessary before starting this fic--though it certainly helps!</p><p>2. The rating and warnings as they stand now are appropriate (I feel), but I might kick things up as the story progresses, depending on what happens. Any violence will be canon-typical and I tend to go for a fade-to-black approach for any sexual content that might arise. I will update tags as I go, but if I miss something, please let me know.</p><p>3. Feedback is much appreciated! Kudos and comments are welcome in all forms! I thrive off of the approval of others!</p><p>Anyway, on that note: enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A philosopher once asked, </em>
</p><p>“<em>Are we human because we gaze at the stars, </em></p><p>
  <em>or do we gaze at them because we are human?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pointless, really. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do the stars gaze back?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now, that’s a question.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bren Aldric Ermendrud, if he does decide to keep that name, stares at himself in the mirror, taking a deep breath and trying to steady his shaking hands. There is no need to be worried. This is <em>Astrid</em> he’s going to talk to, his childhood best friend and lover. Though, what she is to him now… that remains open to interpretation. Over a decade of time lay between them, as well as a psychotic break, acts of arson, and subsequent institutionalization.</p><p>Still. She’s the love of his life, and for her, Bren has to try. Try to talk to her, try to put things back together of the life that he’d shattered, try to see if that old flame—he smiles bitterly at that—still flickers for her. Because it most certainly does for him. And, if he could ignite it in her again, he could start to fix everything. He could move forward to what he wanted next, with the woman he loved more than anything by his side. He could think of no one more suited to help him.</p><p>So, Bren gives himself one last hard stare in the mirror, picks up the bouquet of snowdrops, and steps out into the night air.</p><p>The town of Blumenthal had changed little in the time he’d spent locked away in the building north of it. Most of the same people walked the streets, though many had new lines on their faces and streaks of grey in their hair. The same houses stood along those streets, though many were sagging and bemoaned their old coats of paint. The same cobblestones <em>lined</em> those streets, though patches of moss and weeds had started making names for themselves between the cracks. Even the statue of the Dawnfather that looms over the township seemed to have dimmed with the past decade.</p><p>It’s as sad as it is strange to Bren as he walks down the pathway he knows by more than heart leads to Astrid’s house. It’s like hearing an echo once it’s traveled back again; it’s familiar in an eerie sort of way, but the time that has passed and the journey it has undergone have left it irrevocably and fundamentally changed in a way that feels deeply personal, despite the passing of time and movement of space being perhaps the most impersonal concepts in the universe.</p><p>Bren shakes himself from his existential reverie once he’s beneath Astrid’s window and it occurs to him that there is a chance he did not think this part of his plan through very well. He can see moving shapes in the window, illuminated by the softly glowing candlelight within, but he can’t think of a good way to get Astrid’s attention.</p><p>The copper wire in his pocket seems to <em>twitch </em>a bit at his dilemma, but still he hesitates. So much has changed since Bren had… well, ‘broken a bit’ is how he describes it, to use more delicate terms that might befall more polite conversation.</p><p>The problem isn’t where he is in the world; Blumenthal, while separated from the Dwendalian Empire by the shimmering arcane wall that surrounded it, had not been cut off from the arcane ley lines that encircled all of Exandria. Small acts of magic are still possible within the town’s borders, but magical creatures and objects of most kinds would be hard pressed to enter Blumenthal, or leave it.</p><p>The problem is… him. He’s still hesitant to do magic, scared it might stress his mind to the point of breaking as it once had, and that he might end up hurting someone again. And, there is no telling how Astrid might react to hearing his voice in her ear after all this time. The last thing he wants to do was to break <em>her.</em> Better to try something else.</p><p>So, Bren instead opts for picking a sizable rock off of the ground and throwing it at her window.</p><p>A certainly inelegant solution, but a solution nonetheless. And it gets him the result he’s wanting as her curtains part and her window swings open and her beautiful face, eyes wide with dismay but, thank the gods, not disgust, looks down at him.</p><p>“<em>Bren?”</em> Astrid’s incredulous voice is as wonderful as he remembers. She smiles, and it makes his stomach swoop in a way it hasn't since he was a child and saw that expression for the first time. “Is that really <em>you? </em>I… I’d heard you were out, but...<em>”</em></p><p>“Uh, <em>h-</em><em>hallo</em>,” is his reply.</p><p><em>Scheisse.</em> He prepared a whole speech, rehearsed it over and over to himself until he was sure he seemed like he was losing his mind again, from how he still felt about her to the puzzle he so desperately wanted her help to solve. He should have predicted how tongue-tied he would end up upon seeing her and planned accordingly. Perhaps he <em>is </em>still too frazzled after all.</p><p>Astrid opens the window wider, letting it fall lightly against the side of the house as she leans out of it. She still looks shocked, but not outright upset at seeing him. Bren generally considers himself an insightful person, so he counts that as a point in his favor.</p><p>“I, uh… could I come up?” He asks before she can speak again.</p><p>Astrid’s mouth closes into a thin, hard line. “I…” She glances at something down the street. “I don’t think that’s the best id—”</p><p>“Bren?”</p><p>His old name is uttered in one of the <em>other</em> voices that he knows all too well, and Bren is only surprised to see how much <em>older</em> Eodwulf looks when he turns to look at him. He’s tall and toned, his hair more salt than pepper, and has a small gift box in one of his hands as he looks at Bren with his jaw dropped halfway to the lichen-covered cobblestones.</p><p>Bren stares at the gift and realizes three things all at once, each hitting harder than the last.</p><p>The first is that, the only thing that could be drawing Eodwulf to Astrid’s house with a gift in his hand at this time of night is to partake in activities unfit for daylight hours.</p><p>The second is that, given the nature of courting in their town, this must have been going on for some time, even while he was locked away and none the wiser.</p><p>The third is that, as long as he’s free in Blumenthal, it will not continue until he’s done all he can to stop it.</p><p>Eodwulf looks Bren up and down as his flower-free hand balls into a bandaged fist within his coat sleeve. In his other, the snowdrops shake with tension even as he tries to quell it. At long last, Eodwulf clears his throat.</p><p>“Bren, ah, perhaps you should go? We could talk about this at a more… suitable time.” He glances up at Astrid, who’s currently trying to shield her face from nonexistent onlookers.</p><p>His tone is so condescending and patronizing outright <em>infantilizing</em> that Bren’s blood boils, which is surely the only reason his cheeks are burning. “Now is a perfectly suitable time for me,” he snaps, as if it isn’t the middle of the night and as if there isn’t a bitter cold wind blowing and as if that isn’t snow that’s starting to fall and dust his shoulders.</p><p>Eodwulf sighs. “Bren…” He flicks his fingers and they crackle with arcane energy, just enough to let Bren know that he’s more powerful than he seems and is more than ready for a fight. “Please," he warns, "don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”</p><p>Bren’s jaw tightens and he stands up straighter. If there’s one thing he knows how to do, it’s make things harder than they need to be.</p><p>Eodwulf shrugs in defeat and sends a small blast of force his way. It’s stronger than he expected and Bren is pushed back a few feet, stumbling but not falling. Still, the flowers are ruined by the blast and are now nothing more than a lump of charred, oozing plant matter in his hand.</p><p>“Oh, Wulf, don’t <em>hurt</em> him,” Astrid protests in annoyance from the window.</p><p>Bren, incensed by the loss of Astrid’s flowers and by the mere possibility that <em>Eodwulf</em> could ever be strong enough to hurt <em>him</em>, stands upright, pulls out his spellbook from the holster on his chest, and sends a bolt of fire haphazardly in his direction. But his lack of practice is embarrassingly apparent as it goes wide and strikes a nearby house, scorching the brick. Bren swears, the tips of his ears turning pink, and prays that Astrid didn’t see how horribly he’d just missed his target with the angle she’s at.</p><p>Eodwulf holds up another hand and sends a second wave of thundering energy at him, this time knocking him flat on his back and leaving him winded and gasping, staring up at the starry, cloudy night sky above with snowflakes falling into his eyes. Bren swears it’s laughing at him as Eodwulf’s face comes into view, pointing one finger down at him with the energy still crackling around it.</p><p>“<em>Enough,”</em> he snaps, face drawn as he stares down at him. “Go home, Bren, before you embarrass yourself further. You’ve done enough damage to us all.”</p><p>Bren clenches his jaw. There’s a burning lump in his throat and a painful prickling behind his eyes as he carefully stands back up and collects his spellbook, already sore. He is <em>not</em> as young as he used to be. He looks up at Astrid one last time and his heart drops. Her expression isn’t one of disgust, or displeasure, or even disbelief anymore. It’s one of pity. And that’s worse than anything.</p><p>So, angry, humiliated, and now more determined than ever, Bren Aldric Ermendrud returns home, and writes for hours in the <em>other</em> book he keeps close to his chest.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Nott,” Bren says dejectedly to the mirror, “I’ve lost my job.”</p><p>Bren winces and shakes himself, takes a deep breath, and resolves to practice again. “Nott, I’ve lost my job.”</p><p>It had been a humiliating experience, one of the worst of his life. Astrid had bounced into the Invulnerable Vagrant, the only place Bren had managed to find work It was a decent job; Mister Sol was nice—<em>had</em> been nice, the pay <em>had</em> been decent, and the tasks themselves that he was hired to perform mind-numbing in a way that left his mind free to ponder more important things.</p><p>Like, for instance, how to win back the heart of his childhood lover from their mutual best friend, and how to ask her to help him find a way to turn back time itself. Important things like that.</p><p>So when Astrid had drifted in, of <em>course</em> he was going to let her skip the horribly long line, and of <em>course</em> he was going to deplete their inventory to give her all the material components and alchemical supplies she asked for, and of <em>course</em> he was going to do the polite thing and carry it all home for her so her arms wouldn’t ache. It was all part of the plan. And, of <em>course</em>, Mister Sol hadn’t seen it that way, nor had any of his simulacrum, and all of them had unanimously agreed that Bren had to be let go.</p><p>It was fair, Bren knew, and he had expected it. A calculated risk. That was what this was all about.</p><p>“Nott,” Bren says to the mirror one last time, “I’ve lost my—”</p><p>“You’ve lost your job.”</p><p>Bren starts and turns around at her familiar screech, cursing himself for not realizing that his friend diminutive stature would render her invisible in the mirror. Either way, the house they were currently staying in courtesy of his now former boss was small enough that she probably could have heard him anyway.</p><p>Nott’s yellow goblin eyes stare up at him, empty of accusation and full of understanding. It twists Bren’s stomach. The last thing he needs or wants is for people to treat him like he’s made of glass. He doesn’t deserve that, and certainly not from someone who doesn't even know his real <em>name</em>. Maybe he doesn’t deserve love, either, but he just can’t help himself, and Astrid is the smartest woman he knows. If anyone in the multiverse can help him, it has to be her.</p><p>And, if it were to go poorly, he could use that as proof that he hadn't deserved it after all.</p><p>“<em>Ja</em>, um, I have,” he mutters, rubbing his neck and not quite meeting her gaze anymore.</p><p>Nott shrugs. “That’s alright,” she says, clearly attempting to be cheerful. “By now the west side of town should have cooled down enough for me to start stealin’ from them again, so we’re covered for the time being.”</p><p>Bren works his jaw a bit, but says nothing. He didn’t have much money to his name, but it wasn’t even about that. Getting his life together was step one, with substeps including not only winning Astrid back and asking her aid, but holding a steady job with decent enough proximity to the arcane to get him some exposure. His hesitance around magic aside, if he’s going to move on to the much more dangerous step <em>two</em>, he needs to start sooner rather than later. Though, given the nature of step two, that might not matter as much as he thinks it does.</p><p>“Well, that’s… that’s good to know,” he gets out, rubbing his hands over his bandaged arms.</p><p>They’re both silent for a moment. Nott fiddles with one of the buttons on her dress and steps forward a bit before she speaks again.</p><p>“You know, um… <em>I</em> certainly don’t know this Astrid person very well, but… if it were me? I’d love it if someone would go all out for me. Champagne, dinner, candlelight, the works. Well, maybe whisky instead of champagne, but the really good kind, you know?”</p><p>Bren smiles at the jibe, realizing the truth in Nott’s words and that she’s far more insightful than he’d initially given her credit for. “That, uh, might actually be a good plan. Thank you,” he adds.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” she says, hefting her cloak and tucking her flask into it. “Now, I’m off to go steal some things. Have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”</p><p>Bren rolls his eyes a bit as she scurries out the door, vanishing into the shadows and encroaching twilight. He reaches into his pockets and pulls out the handful of gold that the Sols had given him as a parting gift of sorts, eyes filled with that same look that makes his guts flip over on themselves. It’s not much, but if he spends it right...</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bren finds himself beneath Astrid’s window right on time, if all goes according to plan. Deciding to fall back on his initial method, he tosses another pebble at the candlelit window and waits precisely twenty-three seconds for the curtains to ruffle and her upper body to come into view.</p><p>She lets out a silent sigh and visibly deflates as she sees him. “Bren,” she begins in exasperation as she opens the window, “it’s like I said, this just isn’t—”</p><p>“I know,” he interrupts, then cringes internally at himself. “I know, I—just come with me, please. I promise, I won’t waste your time.”</p><p>Astrid sighs again, her mouth twisting a bit. Then she closes the window and disappears from sight, the candlelight fading to darkness.</p><p>Bren’s heart drops, possibly all the way to the Underdark. He’s so numb as he turns to stagger home that he almost doesn’t notice Astrid’s arm linking with his and her boots falling in step beside him.</p><p>She smiles. “My time is valuable these days. You better make every minute count.” She’s so warm and she even <em>smells</em> exactly the same as she did before… before <em>it</em> had happened. Before he'd 'broken a bit', which was putting it mildly.</p><p>He realizes he’s staring, but how could he not? She’s like staring into the sun. “I, ah, will certainly do my best,” he manages to say as they turn down the street.</p><p>Astrid giggles and leans against his arm the rest of the way as they head towards the small patch of land in the south of town where he’d set everything up. He sneaks a look at her face as the picnic comes into view, and counts it as another victory that her eyes widen and her jaw drops.</p><p>“Bren,” she breathes, “did <em>you</em> do all of this?”</p><p>“<em>Ja</em>, I did,” he says, resisting the impulse to scratch at his arms or pick at his fingertips. There was no room for error right now. He clears his throat. “Shall we sit?”</p><p>“This must have cost you a <em>fortune,</em>” Astrid laughs as she sits down. She wrinkles her nose a bit at the smear of dirt that accosts her skirts, but Bren quickly leans over and brushes it away before she can comment on it.</p><p>“Well, it was definitely worth it,” Bren says as he sits back upright. He reaches for the bottle of champagne that had cost more money than he had ever held in his hands before buying it and pours them each a glass. Astrid holds hers delicately in her hands, sipping lightly as she admires the spread of food and candles.</p><p>“I’m impressed,” she says, tilting the glass so the bubbling, golden liquid catches the candlelight. “After everything, I wouldn’t have expected <em>you</em> to know much about champagne.”</p><p>“A reasonable assumption,” Bren replies before sipping again. Best to mimic her tone. “They don’t teach you much about it in the asylum.”</p><p>Astrid throws her head back and laughs at that. “No, I can’t imagine they’d teach you much of anything there.” She sips again from her champagne and finishes off the glass, pouring herself some more. “Honestly, Bren,” she continues, “this must have been <em>all</em> of your savings.” She smiles. “It’s a good thing Wulf’s not in town to see this, or he might get jealous.”</p><p>Bren blinks and frowns a bit. “Oh? Where’s he gone?”</p><p>Astrid covers her mouth, muffling her voice as she says, “Oh, shit.” She closes her eyes and removes her hand with a sigh. “Well,” she begins, swirling her fresh glass and not meeting Bren’s eyes, “he’s… ring shopping. All the way in Hupperdook, if you can believe it. Rumor is, he’s planning to propose on my birthday next week.”</p><p>Bren scoffs. “<em>Hupperdook?</em> Seriously? He’s gone to <em>Hupperdook</em> to get you a ring?<em>”</em></p><p>She frowns this time. “Oh please, Bren, it <em>is</em> awfully far. And, I wouldn’t expect you to know, but the trip is a fairly hostile one these days, even without technically leaving the walls. I can’t help but be impressed.”</p><p>Bren resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s aware of the current state of the Empire (shambles) and how many cities have walled themselves off beneath similar shimmering arcane domes as Blumenthal for protection (nine), but it’s far from deadly out there—at least, from what he’s heard, and the conclusions he’s drawn.</p><p>“Astrid,” he says, shifting a bit closer to her and taking her hand. “For your hand in marriage, I’d travel to… Rexxentrum, or Nicodranas, or even Uthodurn.”</p><p>Astrid snorts, but she doesn’t move away or withdraw her hand, and Bren makes no move of his own to pull back. “Really?” She asks, her tone more goading and sarcastic than genuine.</p><p>“Really,” he insists. “I’d cross oceans or continents. I’d go to the deserts of Marquet or each of the Shattered Teeth. I’d go to Whitestone and bring you back a shard of residuum the size of your fist.” Bren leans a bit closer, just enough so that he can see the sky reflected in Astrid’s eyes. “Or, I’d venture to the Feywild, strangle a satyr and—”</p><p>Astrid’s eyes spark, and her gaze breaks his to look past his head. “What is <em>that?”</em></p><p>Swearing internally, Bren turns his head to look up at the sky where she’s pointing, and sees a streak of light arcing its way down towards the ground, backlighting the sparse covering of clouds that obscure the galaxy shining above. It disappears with a final flare behind the range of mountains to the far east of Blumenthal, leaving no trace of its presence behind.</p><p>“A fallen star,” Astrid breathes, her eyes still wide. “Amazing... I thought the Astral Plane was completely sealed off nowadays.”</p><p>An idea pops into Bren’s head and is out of his mouth before he even knows it. “Astrid,” he whispers, meeting her gaze again, “for you, I’d travel beyond the wall, and I’d bring you back that star.”</p><p>Astrid gives him a calculating look, one he’s seen in the mirror enough times to understand all too well. She sighs through her nose and lifts her glass again. “One week,” she says at last. “You have one week, until my birthday, or I marry Wulf when he gets back.”</p><p>Bren’s heart soars. “Very well,” he says, tapping his glass to hers with a light <em>clink</em>. “One week it is.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A star falls from the sky. A pathway is lit by flame. Two souls leave their homes, to find one another.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay the lore here took some doing, but after much back and forth and tweaking, I've got it in a place where I'm happy with it. Hopefully, you will be too. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Bren may have been happy to learn that, at the moment he was beseeching Astrid for the second time in as many days, all the stars in the sky currently had their gaze turned towards the plight of one of their own, as the Bright Queen’s latest life lay expiring on her deathbed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Quana dutifully stands guard at her wife’s side, her face the perfect picture of a grieving soon-to-be widow—for a time, at least, until Leylas’s reincarnation and inevitable return to the throne, as has happened time and time before and will happen time and time again, Luxon willing. But until then, there must be a queen in the interim, and she intends to take the crown as much as the other Umavi in the room, all lurking in a manner more suited to vultures than mourners. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Leylas Kryn removes the dodecahedron pendant from around her neck with ancient, trembling hands and whispers words older than even she can remember. The Umavi around her straighten, each looking expectantly at her before looking snidely at one another as the necklace floats forward, the chain drifting idly in the air as if made of water.</em>
</p><p>“<em>Only a perfect soul can stare into the Beacon’s darkest of depths,” Leylas rasps. The Beacon in question slowly spins on the chain, emanating a dull, pulsing glow that washes the room in grey light and the weight of perhaps thousands of watching souls from within it. After what had happened to the last one—well, the Bright Queen had been sure to keep this Beacon close to her chest. “Whoever ventures into Exandria and learns its secrets first shall win the throne until my return. Light be with you all.”</em></p><p>
  <em>Leylas’s head falls back against her pillow as the Beacon disappears in a flash of light before any of the Umavi could snatch it, try as they might. They all look to one another, eyes narrowing darkly and mouths twisting into cruel sneers. Each was already plotting ways in which they might get a leg up on the others, and doubtless they were also calculating the ways in which the others might get a leg up on them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So intent are they on one another, none of them notice that the flash of the Beacon is more arcane than divine in nature. None of them hear the faint ripple of magical feedback from a spell going wrong. None of them feel the small hole in the otherwise impenetrable Astral Plane that should have guided the Beacon down to the Material Plane rip a bit wider as something else is pulled down with it. None of that matters to them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The search was on.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bren steels himself before striding towards the arcane wall that separates Blumenthal and most of the Zemni Fields from the rest of the Dwendalian Empire, stretching uninterrupted for miles upon miles but for a single gap that occasionally acts as a doorway for the select few that stood guard. That particular gap stands guarded twenty four hours a day by an elven individual, whom Bren would swear to anything he might consider holy hasn’t aged a single day in all the time he’s seen her there. She might be the only thing in Blumenthal untouched by the passing of time, he thinks bitterly as he approaches.</p><p>“Bren.” They inclined a shaved head towards him, leaning on their staff. “So nice to see you out and about again these days.”</p><p>Bren returns the nod, trying to exude the same calm, collected presence as they did. “Dairon,” he says coolly. “It’s nice to <em>be</em> out and about as well.” He pauses, fidgeting with his fingers a bit awkwardly, which pokes a hole in the persona he’d been trying to put forth. The next step to this plan was, ‘convince Dairon to let him over the wall so he could collect the star’, but he hadn’t figured out how to actually <em>do</em> that yet.</p><p>Stall for time? That could work.</p><p>“And, actually,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m, ah, not too sure if I’ll keep going by Bren these days.” Not an outright lie, but it’s enough to perhaps keep Dairon thinking and talking about something else.</p><p>Dairon cocks her head to one side, still casually leaning on her staff. “Oh? What were you thinking instead?”</p><p>“I’m… thinking of a few different things,” Bren hears himself say as he attempts to calculate just how wide the gap in the wall is and whether he could slip past Dairon. He doesn’t know what goes into the barrier, though, and whether he needs specific permission or to speak a certain word in order to get through, and stifles a grimace at the realization.</p><p>“Hm. Well, while we’re reintroducing ourselves, there’s someone I should introduce <em>you</em> to,” Dairon responds. Their gaze moves to a point behind Bren’s shoulder and they nod, and that’s all the warning he gets before a flurry of fists <em>slams</em> into his side, knocking him to the ground and the wind out of his lungs.</p><p>“’Sup,” says the brown-skinned, blue-eyed woman who just pummeled him, crossing her arms and flexing them a bit so as to make her muscles appear larger if Bren wasn’t mistaken. “You can be fucking weird about your name if you want, but mine’s Beau.” She steps forward and extends a hand, clasping one of his arms and hauling him back to his feet so hard he almost keels forward onto his stomach.</p><p>“Nice—ach—to meet you,” he coughs, trying to catch his breath. This ‘Beau’ was an unplanned variable, and he wasn’t sure how to factor her in yet. Since when did Dairon have company? Was she someone they were training? Beau certainly seems younger than they did, but Bren couldn’t have guessed at Dairon’s age to begin with, so he has no way of knowing. Perfect. That’s exactly what he needs right now.</p><p>“Yeah, likewise.” Beau folds her arms again and leans back against the wall, next to her presumed mentor. “So,” she says as she lets one ankle cross over the other, almost falling a bit in her attempt to look casual, “I have a feeling I already know the answer, but what brings you here, whatever-your-name-is?”</p><p>Bren sighs internally. Well, there’s no dancing around the conversation now. “I, um… Well, for now it’s Caleb, and I was <em>hoping</em> that you two might be kind enough to let me through the wall…?” The phrase ends up being some awkward halfway point between a question and a statement, which he’s sure does not help his case.</p><p>Beau rolls her eyes. “Sorry, ‘Caleb’, no can do. No one goes in or out of the walls. Orders of the Cobalt Soul. Keeps y’all mere mortals safe from the weirdness that’s still leaking through the Astral Plane these days. Even if the Empire is kinda falling apart with people seceding, there <em>is</em> still a war going on out there, ya know?”</p><p>Dairon gives her a slight nod of approval before turning back to Bren. “If you require travel to another walled city, we have means of arranging that, but it’s crucial that no one travel into the Empire wilds in their current state. It’s too dangerous.”</p><p>Bren sighs through his nose and clenches his fists. It was the response he should have expected, but there had to be a way. This is his only chance at winning Astrid back. Everything hinges upon his success here. He can’t give up now, not when he’s finally close. “I’m fully willing to accept any risks involved with the travel, and I will not hold the Cobalt Soul liable. If you would please just hear me out—”</p><p>“Damn,” Beau mutters, nudging Dairon with her elbow a bit harder than was necessary, “you were right, looks like the stubbornness runs in the family, huh?”</p><p>Bren’s speech dies on his lips. Dairon’s whole body tenses and she turns to Beau, giving her a look that surely deals psychic damage of some kind. Beau’s eyes widen and her mouth falls open as she realizes her apparent faux pas.</p><p>“Shit,” Beau says, looking back at him, “I—I just mean, uh, well, you see—”</p><p>“Don’t. Say. Another. <em>Word.”</em>  Dairon’s voice is a hiss through her teeth.</p><p>It seems to take every ounce of her willpower, but Beau’s mouth shuts and her lips form a tight line. Dairon runs a hand over their face as they turn back to Bren.</p><p>“What,” Bren says softly before she can speak, “is that supposed to mean?”</p><p>Dairon closes their eyes and sighs slowly through their nose. “Br—<em>Caleb,”</em> she says delicately as she opens them, “just go back home. Focus on getting back on your feet for now. This isn’t a stone you need unturned, not yet.”</p><p>“Do you know something about my parents,” Bren demands, heart pounding as he takes a step forward, perhaps to start outrunning the mental images of fire and ash that are swirling the edges of his vision. He knows, <em>knows</em> that he can’t get overwhelmed by whatever is still lurking in his head, least of all right now, but he has very little control over it.</p><p>Dairon puts a hand out against his chest as he approaches, not hard enough to push him away but enough to stop him in his tracks. Their face is stern and grim, warning etched into its lines. “Go home, Caleb. Do <em>not</em> make me tell you again.”</p><p>Bren stares her down, his hands again clenched and shaking at his sides. This <em>can’t</em> be the only weak spot in the wall. And either way, he knows all too well what magic is capable of. He doesn’t need to go through them. But if Dairon knows something, something about his parents…</p><p>...He can ask them later. If history is any teacher, she’ll still be here whenever he gets back. One step at a time, and add on any extras to the end. He couldn’t afford any missteps.</p><p>“Fine,” he spits at last, turning around and trudging back towards town. He can still hear the distant sounds of Dairon scolding Beau as he approaches the outermost buildings, but he’s too lost in thought to decipher what they might be, hands running up and down his arms and feeling the marks he’d had there for he didn't even <em>know</em> how long anymore. His mind is reeling too fast for him to fully put each thought into words, but he knows he has to get out of Blumenthal somehow.</p><p>So when he gets back to the small dwelling he shares with Nott, his first action is to remove his books from their holsters and spread them across the rickety table in what passes for their kitchen. His goblin friend should still be out and about picking pockets at this hour, so <em>he</em> should have some time for himself to get working.</p><p>Bren doesn’t know if he yet possesses the requisite arcane prowess to magically transport himself from Blumenthal, and acquiring the materials to do so is another challenge in and of itself. But if he could just look at the problem long enough and hard enough, he could figure it out. If he knows one thing to be true, it’s that magic is capable of a great many things. And besides, he has to. There’s no other choice.</p><p>He had been staring at sigils and runes and long dead languages for hours when the sound of a scratchy throat being cleared snaps him out of his reverie so sharply his chair almost tips, and he sees Nott looking a bit nervously at him from the doorway.</p><p>“Uh, hi,” she says, glancing curiously at his setup, fiddling with her porcelain mask in front of her.</p><p>“Hallo.” Bren pulls his books a bit closer to him to shield them from her gaze. While Nott certainly knows some magic of her own, most of his spellbook should be gibberish to her, and he’s fairly certain Nott can’t read the Zemnian that inscribes his <em>other</em> book. Still, he can never be too careful, even if he does trust her more than he thinks he should.</p><p>“So… what are you working on?” She asks casually, stepping down into the kitchen.</p><p>Bren exhales and runs a hand through his hair, his body creaking as it finally moves after what must have been longer than he thought. “Well,” he begins, “I am, ah, trying to find a way to—”</p><p>“I went to your old house,” Nott blurts out, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth as soon as the words left it.</p><p>Bren blinks at her a few times, taking exactly six seconds to process that information. “You did?”</p><p>Nott nods vigorously and gulps, lowering her hand to start fidgeting with her mask again. “Well, um… I just, I wanted to see if there was anything left, or maybe something that could help you with whatever you’re trying to do. I didn’t—I know I probably should have asked you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d get upset, so… um, anyway, my point is I found some stuff and… I really think you need to see it.”</p><p>Bren’s head is swimming with too fast for the second time that day, speculations and accusations chasing away any thoughts of the arcane that still flitted about his brain. He rubs his eyes and stands up, gathering his books and papers into his arms and pushing his chair back with a loud <em>scrap</em><em>e</em> of wood on stone. The possibilities of what Nott could have found are endless, and at least half of them are bad, but there’s ultimately no point in wondering. Best just to take it as it comes.</p><p>“I… okay. Well, show me,” he says once he’s fastened the last strap on his spellbook and affixing it to his chest, the familiar feel and weight of it providing some small comfort.</p><p>Nott shifts on her feet a bit before leading him back into the front room. There, sitting in the middle of the room, is a mostly charred, blanket covered basket. He can see the edge of a paper sticking out from it, but not much from this angle.</p><p>Bren sits on the small sofa as Nott pushes it over to him, close enough that he can smell the soot and ash that still, after all these years, seem to cling to it. Or maybe it’s still clinging to him. He’ll never truly be free of it, after all, nor should he be.</p><p>She clears her throat again as she removes the piece of paper. “I, um… I have a feeling this is meant for you?” She extends the rolled up parchment to him, and he can see the name <em>Bren</em> written on it.</p><p>Bren’s heart sinks. This isn’t how he imagined her finding out. There’s no way she’ll trust him now, not after lying about something so personal. “<em>Ja</em>, um, it is,” he mutters lamely as he takes it from her.</p><p>It’s clunkier than he expected, as if the paper is wrapped around something, and he has just enough time to discern the precise shape of whatever it is before a small black candle slides out into his hand. Curious, but more so about the contents of the letter, he sets it aside for now and unfurls the paper, jolting a bit as he recognizes the elegant script across the page.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>Bren,</em>
</p><p><em>If you’re old enough to read this, you’re old enough to start asking questions about who you are and where you came from. Before I attempt to answer them, please know this: </em> <em>I love you very much, and if </em> <em>bringing you with me</em> <em> had been safe, I’d have </em> <em>done so</em> <em> in a heartbeat.</em></p><p><em>I had </em> <em>started</em> <em> working on a high-level project with the Assembly for some time </em> <em>when I met your father. </em> <em>Even now</em> <em> I won’t pretend to know how he managed to get past the wall, especially since it had only just gone up with the war starting and the Astral Plane being se</em><em>a</em><em>led, but he’s a talented man.</em> <em> When it became clear </em> <em>that your arrival was imminent, I knew I had to escape, </em> <em>and somehow I managed</em><em>. </em> <em>I met with Leofric in Blumenthal, you joined us a month later, and all was well, I thought.</em></p><p><em>My work was… intense, and strange, and </em> <em>I won’t pretend to know what effects the proximity of </em> <em>it</em> <em> may have had on you, though I wish with all my heart that I did. Your father and I have watched you carefully as you’ve grown up here, </em> <em>but we cannot presume to know everything. And, if the marks on your arm and your propensity for the arcane are any sign, there might be more ill effects to come. </em><em>So, as much as it pains me to do so, I must leave you for now. My hope is that I can find some more information that may shed some light on exactly what may happen to you.</em></p><p>
  <em>I love you dearly, and always will. If you ever do need to seek me out… well, I’ve left you a bit of protection, and the fastest way to travel is by candlelight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your mother,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Una</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The letter was dated the day before he had ‘broken a bit’. The day the confusing jumble in his head had overwhelmed him and he had lashed out at anything and everything. The day he’d killed his parents—or so he’d thought.</p><p>Bren feels completely numb, save for the prickling in his arms that has plagued him since childhood. That was right. She had left, and that was when he’d… done what he did. Was she still alive? What had she been talking about? Were there answers for what had happened to him?</p><p>The letter slips from his fingers and drifts down towards the threadbare carpet. Nott shifts on her feet and makes a concerned noise that might have been a question of some sort, but he doesn’t hear it as he reaches into the basket for the items that rested within it.</p><p>The first is… a necklace, he realizes distantly, its pendant orange with a closed eye emblazoned on it. He slides it wordlessly around his neck and investigates further, conscious of Nott’s stare prickling the hair on the back of his neck. There’s a smattering of other magical items—a small, dimly glowing orb, a pair of manacles, and a ring. He pockets them all; there’s no telling what might prove useful.</p><p>“I… I have to go,” Bren hears himself say as he picks up the candle. He examines it, closely and distantly, feeling the soft black wax stick slightly to his fingers. “I will see you soon, I promise.”</p><p>“C-Caleb, what do you—”</p><p>Bren summons a small firebolt and tapers it down until it’s just a minuscule flame on the tip of his finger. He lights the candle and closes his eyes. He thinks of his mother, what little he can remember of her from the memories he’s sure are his.</p><p>He remembers seeing her laugh and smile as he runs between rows of drying laundry hanging out in the sun. He remembers hearing her talk softly and urgently with his father when she thinks he’s asleep. He remembers feeling her ruffle his hair as he walks away towards—</p><p>Astrid, who’s looking down at him from a window, who’s giggling with a glass of champagne, who’s pointing at a star falling from impossibly high in the sky—</p><p>The candle sparks and the light around him surges. He hears Nott cry out in fear as the world turns upside down, then backwards, then inside-out before he’s being swirled and whisked through the air, towards a destination he can only hope will bring him some answers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After being ripped out of time and space, Essek Thelyss is displeased at best to find himself in the company of a human, and his feelings only sour when he learns of that human's plans. Thankfully, he has no intention of remaining a prisoner for long...</p><p>(Or, we meet our star!)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I promise my update schedule will be nothing if not inconsistent. Also, this chapter's a bit longer than the last two because a certain character we'll meet at the end likes to talk a lot more than I initially had planned for them, but not by a lot.</p><p>As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated, so please consider leaving one (or both!)</p><p>Enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Being accidentally ripped out of the Astral Plane by the very artifact you had been trying to steal from under the noses of its divinely rightful owners is one thing.</p><p>Being knocked <em>into</em> by a fast traveling blur of a red haired, blue eyed human is another.</p><p>So, as quickly as he had painfully stood and clasped the gods-forsaken necklace around his neck, Essek Thelyss finds himself being <em>slammed</em> back to the ground once more with the wind knocked out of his lungs, the human in question now looking down at him with the absolute <em>nerve</em> to look dazed.</p><p>“I...” The human on top of him blinks once. Twice. Then he frowns and pulls back, his face framed by the mocking night sky above and no longer entirely obscuring Essek’s view. “You’re not my mother...”</p><p>Essek grits his teeth. Of all the stupid, inane comments to make… “I most certainly am <em>not</em>,” he snaps. Was this man just <em>trying</em> to get himself killed?</p><p>“<em>Ja</em>, erm, my apologies,” he says, at least having the decency to look embarrassed as he scrambles to his feet. The expression quickly fades to puzzlement as he looks around, clearly searching for something as he fiddles with what appears to be a necklace of his own.</p><p>He mutters in what sounds like Zemnian for a while—Essek thinks he catches the words ‘Mutter’ and ‘Astrid’, but not much else—then looks back up at Essek, expression torn between desperation and reluctance. “I am, ah, sorry to trouble you even further, but you wouldn’t happen to have seen a fallen star anywhere, would you?” He asks as he cards his hands through his hair, looking around a bit more frantically now.</p><p>Essek laughs once, humorless and bitterly. “Yes, actually, I have,” he says through his teeth as he sits up. “I saw one up <em>there</em>, minding its own business when <em>this </em>thing—” he takes hold of the dodecahedron shaped pendant and shoves it towards his unwelcome visitor— “accidentally dragged it down to this accursed plane. And <em>there—</em>” he points with his other hand towards his crash site— “is where it landed before getting hit and crushed by a very <em>obnoxious</em> human!”</p><p>“<em>You’re</em> the star, then,” the human nods, eyes widening a bit. “Sorry—again, I ah… didn’t really expect anything… humanoid. Here.” He steps forward and extends a hand, helping Essek painfully to his feet for the second time that night. He’s not quite as tall as he had seemed when he had stood to search fruitlessly for the fallen star, but still has several inches of height over Essek. With how distressed Essek still is, he stands little chance of floating to close the gap, or shining bright enough to deter this human from assailing him any further.</p><p>“Thank you,” Essek says as he dusts himself off, because that’s the polite thing to say in this sort of circumstance. Still, this person <em>definitely</em> owes him a favor or two after that.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he replies, seeming to be deliberating something for a few moments before he sighs and continues. “And, ah, one final apology, but you’re coming with me.”</p><p>That’s all the warning Essek gets before the manacles <em>click</em> onto his wrists. A sudden wave of exhaustion overtakes him and he stumbles, fighting and fighting and fighting to stay awake. By some miracle he doesn’t lose consciousness, which means he can berate his newfound captor.</p><p>“<em>What</em> are you <em>doing</em>?” He half-asks-half-snarls, trying to regain his balance now that the sky and ground have decided to right themselves once more.</p><p>“Ah, <em>Scheisse,” </em>his newfound captor swears, clearly having expected whatever enchantment was on the manacles to work. “Well, I need a fallen star—<em>you,</em> as a birthday present for someone. Astrid is her name. She’s my… well, it’s complicated. But, giving you to her <em>should</em> un-complicate that.”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” Essek hisses, “because what better birthday present than someone you’ve assaulted, injured, and kidnapped!” This is ridiculous, completely ridiculous, and so utterly beneath him it’s actually <em>insulting</em>. He has infinitely better things to do than to be a solution to the torrid love affairs of idiotic humans.</p><p>The human swears again, running the hand that wasn’t holding the chain attached to Essek’s new manacles over his face. “Listen, I will send you back soon enough, I promise, but I have had a <em>very </em>long day and I need you to just <em>come with me.”</em></p><p>Essek snorts, crossing his arms and keeping them there out of pride despite the clanking of metal and resulting discomfort. “And how, exactly, do <em>you</em> plan to do that?” This human is clearly of the Empire, a Zemnian if Essek’s ears haven’t been deceiving him, and no Empire mage can travel to the Astral Plane. The Dynasty’s continued existence hinges upon it.</p><p>
  <strike>But that’s his own fault, isn’t it?</strike>
</p><p>The human fumbles in his pockets for a moment, long enough for Essek to notice that his coat is more patchwork than actual coat, and for the bandages that wrap his arms to come more clearly into view. Despite how much Essek detests this person—and he does, surely—he can’t help but be a bit intrigued at the prospect of a puzzle to solve, or a mystery to unravel. His mind starts spinning theories before he can stop it or think once about it, let alone twice. Is his captor a vagabond? In disguise of some kind? On the run from someone—or some<em>thing</em>?</p><p>“With <em>t</em><em>his</em>,” he says at last, holding up between soot-stained fingers a candle that makes Essek’s eyes widen and his jaw drop.</p><p>“<em>Where</em> did you get that,” Essek demands before he can stop himself.</p><p>He shrugs. “Not important. But, if I’m not mistaken, it can get you home.”</p><p>Essek’s eyes dart back up to the inky dark sky for a wistful moment before returning to the candle. He frowns. “That’s <em>barely</em> got one use left it in,” he protests, gesturing at the Bazzoxan Candle with a resulting, taunting <em>clink</em> of his manacles. <em>How</em> such a relic had ended up in the hands of a human from the Empire, he had no idea, but it could let him move between planes as easily as his captor had moved across this one.</p><p>The human sighs in frustration. “Well, then, you should be grateful I’m not using it right now to get us both back to Blumenthal,” he retorts with a glare.</p><p>Essek glares right back. Still, Blumenthal… he’s heard that name before, he thinks. Somewhere in the Zemni Fields behind one of those arcane barriers that he’s seen popping up like bubbles over the years from up in the Astral Plane. Not strictly in the Dwendalian Empire by current standards, what with how its decayed over the years, but some cartographers still group it in given how difficult it is to keep track of which cities and towns have declared their independence. Another piece of the puzzle, or another series of questions?</p><p>“Fine,” Essek sighs sharply at last. It’s not as if he has any other options. The object around his neck could certainly serve as a powerful source of magic—that’s what had started all of this, after all—but just tapping into it carelessly could disintegrate him or crush him or do any manner of dangerous, deadly things. Unless he can do further experimentation, he will be without most of his magic here.</p><p>He tries not to think about that.</p><p>“Good,” his captor says, seeming to deflate a bit now that Essek seems to have yielded. “It's dark, and it's a long way. We should rest here. Get started in the morning, if that’s all right with you.”</p><p>It most certainly is <em>not</em> all right with Essek, but he most certainly isn’t going to <em>admit</em> that, so he shrugs instead. “I don’t <em>really</em> seem to have a say in the matter,” he says pointedly, jangling the chains for good measure.</p><p>The human rolls his eyes. “I am <em>trying</em> to be nice to you, but have it your way,” he grumbles, sitting back down and apparently situating himself to go to sleep.</p><p>Essek <em>hmphs</em> and sits as far away as the chain will allow with his back to him, one knee curled to his chest and his bad-now-worse leg extended out in front of him, knee still throbbing from when he’d fallen. He turns the pendant absently over in his fingers as he stares blankly up at the sky, pulling his mantle around himself for warmth. Finally, after everything he’d done, all the sacrifices and all the sleepless nights and all out <em>war</em>, he finally has a Beacon of his own literally in his hands.</p><p>And… he can’t study it, or even look <em>into</em> it, thanks to the chains around his wrists.</p><p>He drops the necklace and lets it fall back against his chest, sighing. “You know,” Essek says, mostly to see if he’s the only one still conscious, “if you’re going to drag me across the Empire, you could at least tell me your name.”</p><p>There’s silence. More silence. Essek is coming to the conclusion that his abductor is asleep and is just starting to test the give in his manacles when he hears a sigh.</p><p>“It’s, um… you can call me Caleb. Caleb Widogast. What’s yours?”</p><p>Essek almost snorts. That’s a fake name if he’s ever heard one. But it will do, for now. Another piece revealed, and more missing ones come to light.</p><p>But he still answers with, “Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand of the Kryn Dynasty.” It’s rote, almost like a mantra. It almost doesn’t feel like it really belongs to him anymore. But then again, he’s never really known where he ends and his mask begins. Or if it’s worth bothering with the distinction anymore.</p><p>“The Kryn Dynasty...” He can hear the gears turning in Caleb Widogast’s head through his voice alone. “So you’re all still alive up in the sky? You didn’t die off after sealing the Astral Plane?”</p><p>Essek rolls his eyes. “What, do you think the latest group of imperialist humans is enough to destroy us? Is that what they’re telling all the children in the schools of the Empire?” He doesn’t particularly care for the Dynasty beyond the stability it grants him, but he knows all too well how efficient they are in matters of war. And, revealing the delicate nature of his allegiance to this ‘Caleb Widogast’ too soon may not be the best idea.</p><p>But to his surprise, he hears Widogast laugh without mirth. <em>“Ja,</em> they do enjoy a good war story.”</p><p>Essek smiles to match his captor’s missing humor. “And here I took you for a proper Empire citizen.”</p><p>Caleb Widogast exhales slowly. “I am of the Empire. But, I am no friend to the Empire. And, as a point of order, I’ll save you the struggle and let you know that those chains you’re messing with are enchanted and subsequently unbreakable. Now, goodnight.”</p><p>Essek hears the <em>snap</em> of fingers and a fluffy, orange-brown cat appears next to his knee, staring down his obvious escape attempt with a surely intentionally insulting yawn. Essek glares at it, tempted to bare his own fangs so it will scurry away, but a familiar would do no such thing, he knows. He settles for pointedly releasing the chains from his hands and letting them fall. The cat <em>chirps</em> in response and settles down, paws tucked inward and tailtip flicking.</p><p>So... that would mean this so-called ‘Caleb Widogast’ is a wizard, and far more clever and charismatic than he looks. That slippery intelligence something Essek can work with at least, a single point of interest that they both share. It’s not much, and he doesn’t quite know what he’ll do with it yet, but it’s certainly something. All data is good data, and he isn’t about to complain at the prospect of receiving some more.</p><p>Therefore, it’s a question of how a wizard of at least moderate arcane ability dressed in some of the most raggedy clothes Essek has ever seen manages to come into possession of a Bazzoxan Candle with the intent of finding his mother but settling for kidnapping a fallen star and returning said star to ‘un-complicate’ his relationship.</p><p>Essek smiles a fraction, sure that it’s a trick of the light and that he doesn’t start to glow the faintest bit in response. Of all the puzzles he’s worked to solve over the years, this one is on an entirely new level. He cannot wait to see the solution.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Are you <em>sure</em> you’re going the right way?”</p><p>“Of course I am.”</p><p>“And how, exactly, do you know that?”</p><p>“I always know which way is north.”</p><p>Essek scoffs. “Do you really?” He’s heard of such traits in some species of animal, but never in humans. Was this Widogast’s attempt at portraying false confidence? Was he trying to gauge Essek’s knowledge of the goings-on of the Material Plane?</p><p>“<em>Ja,</em> actually, I do,” Caleb Widogast says pointedly, turning over his shoulder to throw Essek a withering glare where he trails behind, the chain swaying above the leaves-and-snow-covered ground between them.</p><p>They’ve been walking for <em>hours</em> now and Essek is exhausted. The sun won’t stop climbing higher and higher in the sky, and he can <em>feel</em> his skin starting to sear under its glare, which is supposed to be <em>weaker</em> this time of year gods damn it. His still-twisted knee grinds with every step and the painful <em>twinge</em> in his hip won’t leave him alone. He is thoroughly miserable and irritated, and he has no problems taking that out on his jailer.</p><p>“Besides,” Widogast continues, annoyingly oblivious to Essek’s ailments, “during winter in this part of the Empire, you can always see the evening star and just follow that.”</p><p>Essek rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as best he can, given that he’s being dragged along like a prisoner. But, this situation could at least be humorous. “Oh, can you? And where, exactly, <em>is</em> it?”</p><p>“<em>You’re</em> a star, shouldn’t <em>you</em> know?”</p><p>“Believe me, <em>I’m</em> well aware.”</p><p>Widogast grits his teeth, raising his head to look for the star nonetheless, and Essek <em>does</em> find his second failed attempt at seeing what’s right in front of him in as many days a bit funny when his expression turns to irritated confusion. “Well,” he mutters, clearly trying to salvage his wounded pride, “it’s—usually, it’s—it’s <em>supposed</em> to be right up there.” He points up to the exact spot in the sky where Essek <em>would</em> be right now if his plans hadn’t gone so awfully awry.</p><p>“Hm, how strange. I <em>do</em> so wonder where it’s gone,” Essek muses, his voice dripping with sarcasm.</p><p>Widogast stops and turns all the way around and stares at him, eyebrows raised in… wonder? Astonishment? Whatever it was, it was the first non-gloomy expression that Essek had managed to elicit.</p><p>“That—that was <em>you...?”</em> It’s part question and part statement, but all of it is filled with what Essek finally decides is awe.</p><p>“Indeed it was,” Essek replies, his mouth curiously dry. His leg throbs painfully and threatens to give out from under him, so he takes advantage of their brief pause and hobbles over towards one of the trees and sits down, much to Caleb’s protests.</p><p>“We need to keep moving—”</p><p>“<em>Caleb,”</em> Essek interrupts, exasperated, “it’s <em>midday.</em> I have to sleep <em>sometime.” </em>Normally he’d be loathe to admit such a weakness to <em>anyone</em> let alone someone who’s imprisoned him, but his body has reached its limit and is finally shutting down. And, still, if he can pass it off as the lack of sleep from being a star out in the daytime and not the result of his own physical failings, there’s no harm done.</p><p>To his relief, and surprise, Caleb relents with a sigh, running a hand over his face and rubbing at the scruff along his jawline. <em>“Ja,</em> okay. Fine. That’s fair. I can, ah, keep heading down the road and see if there’s an inn or something. You rest here.”</p><p>Essek manages to stifle his sigh of relief, and instead adjusts the way he’s sitting while Caleb unwinds his chains and wraps them around the tree, a brief arcane flash sealing the ends together and locking Essek in place. He had expected that Caleb would attempt to keep him here, but it incenses him all the same.</p><p>“<em>Thank</em> you,” he says anyway, making sure to pour just the right amount of annoyance into the words.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Caleb says as he stands upright. “I’ll be back in a few hours at most. I’ll try to contact you when I can, but, ah, I’m afraid the spell I use doesn’t reach very far.” He holds up a bit of copper wire that Essek recognizes as being used for a messaging cantrip, looking almost a bit sheepish as he does so.</p><p>“Well, it’s not as if I’m going anywhere,” he says bitterly, leaning back against the tree and closing his eyes so he can look at something other than Caleb’s face at the moment. “Take your time.”</p><p>Essek hears him depart with a <em>huff</em>, tramping off through the forest until he’s out of earshot. He knows, logically, that he should be doing everything he can to escape right now, but he’s sore and tired and just can’t bring himself to.</p><p>He finds himself begrudgingly thankful for the Dynasty’s relative isolation from this land in the skies above as he somehow manages to fall into a sleep that is more fitful than restful. His last thought before he drifts off is that Exandria on its own is <em>dreadful</em> if his experience with it thus far is any teacher, and he’s always found it to be the best one.</p><p>He awakens a few hours later to the snapping of a twig and his own gasp. The sky is much closer to oranges and greys of dusk than the piercing blues and yellows of daytime, but what catches his attention more immediately is the rustling in the trees across the road from him.</p><p>Essek’s heart starts pounding. He’s pinned down, helpless and without any <em>useful</em> magic that might get him out of this mess—he hadn’t even been able to <em>prepare</em> spells for today, thanks to the damned chains around his wrists. His companion—<em>captor </em>is nowhere to be found, and the forests of the Empire are notoriously host to all sorts of deadly creatures. Is this how he’s going to die? He almost finds it amusing. Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand of the Kryn Dynasty, prodigy of dunamancy, slain by a—</p><p>“Hi! Have you heard of The Traveler?”</p><p>The bubbly voice pierces through his terrified spiral regarding his imminent doom. Essek blinks and realizes that its source is a bright blue skinned, green cloaked tiefling currently struggling to kick the brambles off of her dress so she can walk across to the road over to him. She huffs in impatience and bends down, tearing them free with her bare hands before dusting them off, sending a few drops of blood scattering that she pays no mind too.</p><p>“Ugh, the Empire is like, <em>totally</em> awful to walk through. I came here all the way from fucking <em>Nicodranas</em> and I <em>swear</em> it gets worse with every step.” She puts her red-streaked hands on her hips and marches over to him, staring down and apparently paying to mind to his chained state. “Well?”</p><p>He blinks again, utterly taken aback by this display of… something. “Well… what?”</p><p>She groans dramatically and pulls her hands over her face, her upper body bending downwards so she’s almost nose-to-nose with him. Essek sees a furry red <em>something</em> at her neck retreat further into her armor at the lamentation. “Have. You. <em>Heard. </em>Of. The. <em>Traveler?”</em></p><p>“I… have heard of it in the context of your arrival,” Essek says haltingly as he leans back a bit into the tree, perhaps as confused as he’s ever been in a hundred and twenty years.</p><p>She beams. “Great! Oh, I have <em>so much</em> to tell you about him, you’re going to <em>love</em> him, I promise.” She clasps her hands in front of her and clears her throat, standing up straight and rolling her shoulders back. “Right, okay, I've got this. <em>So. </em>The Traveler is, like, a <em>really cool guy,</em> and—hey, why are you all chained up?”</p><p>Faced with one of the most bizarre situations of his life, Essek had almost forgotten his current predicament, and looks back down at his manacles with mild surprise. “I—er—it’s complicated,” he manages at last. He has no idea how much of who or <em>what</em> he is he should share with this person, and worse, he has no idea how he would even find out.</p><p>“Oh! Well, I can free you if you want.” She reaches down as her hand glows faintly, but stops an inch or two from the chains with her eyes narrowed at him. “Wait a minute… you’re not like, secretly evil or a criminal or something, are you?”</p><p>“No,” Essek lies smoothly, though he’s not sure he would even call it a lie, which perhaps sells it even better. “Nothing of the sort.”</p><p>She stares him down but shrugs after a moment, apparently satisfied. “Okay! If you say so. But if I let you go, you <em>have</em> to listen to everything I say about The Traveler. Deal?”</p><p>“Deal,” Essek says. He’s certainly made more malicious trades in his life. The current state of his nation is a testament to that.</p><p>She holds up a finger. “<em>And—</em>you have to buy me at least a dozen cupcakes. But that’s it, I <em>swear</em>.”</p><p>“...Deal,” he agrees, because he has no other choice. He’s a bit short on gold at the moment, but he’ll figure something out. A favor for a favor, even if the return favor was... strange.</p><p>“Perfect!” She taps his chains with a bright smile and they fall free, the hinges creaking loudly as they unlock with the dispelling of their magic.</p><p>Essek stands up a bit awkwardly and rubs his wrists, thinking with a grimace how sore the joints will be in the coming days. But, he’s free, which is the first step in whatever he’s calling his plan for getting back home. He’s… admittedly hesitant to abandon Caleb, but only because he has the Bazzoxan Candle still in his possession, which is his best chance at getting home. But he has no way of knowing if Caleb is even telling him the <em>truth</em>, he realizes, and he knows that he can find or create a spell that will take him home, now that he’s free and especially now that he has the Beacon. Worse things have been done with the arcane.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says, extending a hand to her, which she shakes eagerly and almost dislocates his shoulder.</p><p>“You’re welcome!” She gasps. “Oh my gosh, I forgot to ask you! What’s your name?”</p><p>He hesitates a bit before answering. “It’s… Essek. Essek Thelyss.”</p><p>She grins at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Essek! I’m Jester. And <em>this—”</em> she pulls out the furry red <em>thing</em> he’d seen tucked behind her neck earlier and holds it out to him, and he recognizes it as a <em>weasel</em>— “is Sprinkle!”</p><p>Jester puts Sprinkle back in the hood of her cloak and extends her arms. Essek realizes what she’s asking for and slowly drifts (he can drift now, another victory) forward as she hugs him tightly, deciding that if by some chance he is <em>not</em> hallucinating or dreaming this entire encounter, it’s best to be diplomatic.</p><p>Jester sighs. “We’re going to be <em>best friends</em>, Essek,” she says, still squeezing his ribs far too tightly for comfort. “I just know it.” She steps back, still smiling, and grabs him by the hand, either oblivious to his expression of mounting dread or just ignoring it. “Now, let’s go!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Jester's the story's equivalent of the unicorn, because of course she is!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bren returns to find his star gone and himself alone with his thoughts. They take him down an interesting track.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Because the last one was a bit longer, this one's a bit shorter! But there's some pretty good lore in here, and I'm sure some of y'all will realize just which Caleb theory has been consuming my every waking thought since I first read it.</p><p>Enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The star’s descent does not go unnoticed to all of those on Exandria. Three pairs of eyes, always turned hungrily to the skies, watch its fatal path with morbid fascination. They are in agreement of what must be done even before their eyes fall to meet one another’s. Their whirlwind of preparation begins even before they’ve stepped away from the windows. They’ve sealed the star’s fate before it even reaches the ground.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Archmage of Antiquity brings forth what remains of their last hunt. The souls within it, trapped in a perpetual state between the death they have feared for millennia and the rebirth their vessel so seeks to grant them, can only watch helplessly as they are repurposed to hunt down more of their own.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Archmage of Domestic Protections brings forth a glittering contraption of metal, each of its three legs sharpened to a wicked point. Its glittering edges cast a harsh light over its companion piece, overwhelming and dulling its perpetual soft glow.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Archmage of Civil Influence takes their gifts with a sickly smile, knowing that all of their work is about to pay off tenfold, and sets out in pursuit of their latest prey.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The search was on.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Bren is beginning to understand why the Empire’s wilderness has the reputation it does. The roads that are still intact are in complete disrepair, littered with fallen trees and tracks of creature’s he’d <em>really</em> rather not imagine are lurking just beyond the treeline. They hadn’t made his trek towards anything that may have resembled civilization easy, and they seem to be intent on making his current trek <em>back</em> even harder.</p><p>He hadn’t wanted to make the trip in the first place, but the entire journey would be fruitless if his prized star keeled over and died before they could get back to Blumenthal. He knew, ultimately, that rest was necessary. Falling from the heavens would take its toll on anybody, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t impatient or frustrated that it was needed.</p><p>He rounds the bend that should lead back towards where he’d left Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, but it’s dark now and neither his eyes nor Frumpkin’s are accustomed to it, so he’s having to rely entirely on his memory. Before—well, before <em>it</em>, he would have been content to depend on that alone and would have bet his life and then some on its accuracy, but these days he’s not so sure. But, it’s the only guide he’s got right now, so it’s what he’ll be relying on.</p><p>However, he does briefly call it into question when he gets to the tree he’s at least seventy-nine percent sure he’d chained the star to and finds it vacant.</p><p>Bren’s heart skips a beat, then two, before it starts pounding in his chest. He walks all the way around the tree in what he knows is a damned hope that Essek might have just shifted positions, even going so far as to look up into the branches themselves, but finds nothing. His star has vanished into thin air.</p><p>His feet kick against something metallic when he reaches the road again and he almost trips. Frumpkin slinks between his legs as he leans down to pick it up, hand trembling with anxiety and mounting anger as he realizes it’s the set of manacles, now cold and dead and absent of that faint arcane hum they’d had when their enchantment had been active. <em>How</em> the magic had been dispelled, he had no idea—had Essek somehow been able to cast spells after all? Did the enchantment only last for a certain amount of time?</p><p>He supposes it doesn’t matter very much, since the result is the same either way.</p><p>Bren’s hands tighten around the chains and he turns, throwing them as hard has he can into the surrounding forest. They don’t go very far, and the sound they make as they crash into one of the bushes startles Frumpkin enough to send him running a few feet, tail flicking in accusation. Were he less angry, he would stop to feel bad for his outburst, but he’s at the end of his rope and doesn’t have it in him right now to feel very remorseful.</p><p>He sits down heavily at the base of the tree where he’d left Essek, swearing and pulling his hands through his hair before pressing their heels against his eyes to calm himself. Think. <em>Think.</em> The star is gone, that much is painfully obvious, and Bren stands little chance of finding him again, unless he can find someone to scry or suddenly invent a new spell that will bring Essek right back to him. Which means that any chance he has of convincing Astrid to marry him instead of Eodwulf before her birthday has also gone up in smoke. How disgustingly poetic.</p><p>Bren had been so <em>close</em>, which is the most frustrating thing about this. A few more days and he’d have had the most brilliant mind he knows by his side again. But, like everything in his life, he’d let it slip through his fingers and now he was left alone with nothing to show for his efforts at success.</p><p>Except… maybe all hope was not lost yet, he thinks as his pocket seems to get slightly warmer.</p><p>He still has the candle—what had the star called it? A ‘Bazzoxan’ Candle, whatever that meant. And it <em>should</em> still have a use left in it, meaning he can still go to his mother, if she <em>is</em> still out there somewhere, looking for… well, looking for answers for <em>him</em>.</p><p>Bren wouldn’t pretend to understand everything she’d said in her letter, but he’d hypothesize that the ‘ill effects’ she’d mentioned in it could be tied to his breakdown as a child, maybe. What that means… Bren doesn’t know. There’s still <em>so much</em> about this situation he doesn’t even know <em>how</em> to understand, and it's infuriating beyond measure.</p><p>But what he knows is this: through one reason or another, the star is gone. Bren’s odds of finding him again at this point are extremely minimal, and so are his chances with Astrid. However, with the Candle in his pocket, his chances of finding his mother again are high.</p><p>He <em>doesn’t</em> know where she is or in what kind of situation she may be when he finds her. If she hasn’t come back in a decade, she’s likely imprisoned or lost, if she <em>is</em> still alive at all. If she isn’t… well, that wouldn’t really change any of his goals, then. It would just leave him definitively on his own this time, now that getting Astrid’s help seems to be a lost cause. And <em>that</em> still stings on his own, but… painful as it is, there’s nothing he can do about it right now.</p><p>There’s nothing Bren can do about anything right now, really. He’d burned through a few spells on his journey to occasionally hasten his efforts, just enough that he doesn’t want to risk going after his mother in this state. If she <em>is</em> in trouble of any nature, he needs to be at his best to get her out of it. It’s not as if he has anyone to help him, now.</p><p>To stand his best chance at getting her back, he needs to rest as much as he can. So, summoning Frumpkin back from where he’s scampered off to hide, Bren pulls out his spellbook and his component pouch, and ten minutes later there’s a shimmering dome of force surrounding him and the tree he’ll be leaning against for the next eight or so hours. Frumpkin settles down on top of it to keep an eye out, leaving him to eventually drift off within.</p><p>However, as Bren perhaps should have expected, his rest does not come easy. He’s distantly aware of the prickling, burning sensation in his forearms as the images begin to assail his unconscious mind for the first time since his release.</p><p><em>A </em> <em>small,</em> <em> glowing, twelve-sided shape </em> <em>that he has now seen once before</em> <em> dangles from a chain in midair. </em> <em>The divine shield around it stutters, then drops completely. A hand he can now recognize reaches from a shadowy cloak and snatches it up, the souls within it whisked away from their stasis. It passes from one dark purple hand to three pale, spindly, greedy-fingered ones. The souls within it strain for release, and he screams right with them, but there is nothing any of them can do.</em></p><p>
  <em>The object hangs from its chain, slowly rotating in the arcane field that now contains it. Its light turns the three figures standing in front of it, drinking in its depths, into stark black silhouettes. A young woman with a nose and eyes he’s seen in the mirror a thousand times writes down notes next to it, looking up occasionally to check a measurement. A strand of hair falls into her face, and she pushes it back with her pen.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The woman is standing outside a house now. A bouquet of snowdrops twists and turns in her nervous hands. A man with red hair and a strong jaw opens the door to her, eyes widening as he takes her in. They embrace, their perils forgotten, and a single snowdrop slips from her fingers and drifts to the ground. Their life awaits. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The lab stands in disarray with her gone. Papers and cobwebs litter the floor. Still the three figures stare at the pendant where it now sits upon an ominous metal device, its soft grey light a single shade darker now, something within it having left with her. But that isn't what concerns him most. From the hungry looks on their three faces, he knows with absolute certainty what they’d do to get a second one of these. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And he knows exactly where one is.</em>
</p><p>He wakes violently, and all too soon for him to feel fully rested, feeling flames licking his fingertips and a deeper burning in his arms. He hears Frumpkin <em>mrow</em> in protest as he drops the dome and looks wildly around him for a threat that isn’t there, already sending a blast of flame blindly out towards the road. His eyes focus just in time to see that he’s almost impacted something after all as a large, lumbering creature he’s never seen in his <em>life</em> slams to a halt, almost throwing its rider from its back.</p><p>The rider in question swears in a language he doesn’t recognize and draws a sword, helmed head swinging wildly before the eyes beneath it train on him. They’re advancing on him in an instant, moving with almost unnatural speed, and the tip of the wicked sword is at his neck before he can even blink again.</p><p>“Did the Umavi send you?” The voice, presumably feminine, barks at him. “What’s your name?”</p><p>
  <em>His name, his name, so many times it’s come back to his <b>name</b>, but he knows what it is now more than ever.</em>
</p><p>“Caleb Widogast,” Caleb Widogast squeaks weakly, “I—no one sent me. It’s—it’s complicated.” He’s sure that’s a far from adequate explanation for someone with a blade trained on his carotid, but he’s still fairly disoriented and it’s the best he can offer right now. “But I—there’s someone I know who’s in danger and—well, I could really use a bit of help right now.” He doesn’t even know how he knows it, but the urgency is thrumming through him and he doesn’t have time to wonder right now.</p><p>The figure tilts her head, and Caleb can feel the calculating gaze sweeping him up and down even if he can’t see it. She finally relents with a sigh and the sword slowly lowers, though Caleb isn’t stupid enough to think that means he’s out of the woods. “So,” she begins, “your idea of trying to ask someone for help involves launching a fireball at their moorbounder?”</p><p>Caleb cringes. “I—my apologies. I, uh, it—it truly <em>was</em> an accident, I swear. I am a bit, erm… <em>out of practice</em> with my arcane abilities. It was not my intent to harm you or your...” He trails off, gesturing at the creature she had referred to a moment ago. “...<em>’moorbounder?’</em>”</p><p>She nods. “They are not native to the Empire, and not even Exandria anymore. I would not expect you to be familiar with them.”</p><p>“Right,” Caleb mutters. She’s spoken enough now that he’s beginning to place her accent, but the prospect of it being the one he’d heard earlier that day is too good to be true.</p><p>She leans down towards him and extends a hand, which he clasps and allows her to haul him to his feet. He can see her face a bit better now, the inch or so of it that peaks out from her ornate helmet. Her eyes are a bright golden color framed by white eyebrows and dark purple skin, and the mix of features is jarring familiar. “For your information, I am Quana Kryn. Dusk Captain of the Kryn Dynasty, and partner to the Bright Queen Leylas Kryn.”</p><p>Caleb’s mouth goes dry. <em>Is</em> this another star? He hadn’t seen another one fall. Had she arrived in Exandria through more legitimate means? Was the seal in place on the Astral Plane only one way? Whatever her methods, based on how this first encounter had gone, he stands little chance of capturing this one. Still, the odds are… well, they’re astronomical.</p><p>“I, um… what is someone from the Dynasty doing here?” It's the safest question he can think to ask that might shed a bit more light on just how she got here, and on how much she knows of the other denizen from her home that fell here.</p><p>Her eyes narrow at him. “That is decidedly none of your business. I won’t ask you such questions, and you won’t ask them of me. Deal?”</p><p>Caleb nods, his sense of self preservation finally outweighing his curiosity, at least for now. “Deal.”</p><p>“Very well. Come.” Quana climbs astride the moorbounder with surprising agility and reaches her hand towards him for the second time in as many minutes.</p><p>Caleb takes a split second to weigh his options. There’s <em>something</em> in his head trying to tell him that Essek is in danger, but he knows what happened the last time he listened to it. The smarter, safer thing was to ignore it and go after his mother like he’d planned. But, if he does ignore it and it turns out to be right… he can’t have any more deaths on his hands, not now that there’s one he finally has a chance to avoid. And, maybe he could still get Astrid’s help after all. He knows where to go now. He can’t explain how, and it frustrates him beyond belief that he <em>doesn’t understand</em>, but as with so many things, he can’t do anything about that right now. All he can do is reach up and take Quana Kryn’s hand.</p><p>The moorbounder shifts a bit under his weight, but doesn’t seem to be straining in any way. There are elements of it that remind him vaguely of the handful of times he’s been on horseback, but for the most part it’s an entirely new experience. With a sharp command from the Dusk Captain and a quick spur of her heel, the beast sets off and they both start racing over the ground with the same destination in mind, though neither of them know that yet.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Essek and Jester find themselves at a curious building in the Empire wilds. Surely it's a safe place for them to spend the evening.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And we're back to a longer chapter! After a LOT of editing and note-consulting and cutting things and re-adding them. As always, kudos and comments are appreciated.</p><p>Enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s <em>not</em> a cult, it’s not a cult, it’s not a cult, just—ugh, here, do you want a pamphlet?”</p><p>Essek fumbles a bit with the paper that Jester shoves into his hands, turning it right side up and unfolding it to reveal a myriad of colors and drawings that yield very little in the way of actual information on the cryptic deity she’s been explaining for the hours they've been traveling. Still, listening to her prattle on is preferable to remaining chained to a tree at the mercy of someone who intends to use him as a <em>birthday present</em>, so he’s nodded along politely and asked the appropriate follow up questions about the nature of her… <em>esoteric</em> god.</p><p>The enthusiasm of Jester’s responses to his inquiries is surprisingly endearing, and he can’t help but wonder just how lonely she must have been wandering through the Empire on her own with no one to properly talk to about something she clearly cares about a great deal. He knows that feeling all too well. Still, based on the divine nature of her magical abilities, anything he says to Jester about dunamancy might go over her head, or worse, could end up being repeated into the wrong ears. Best he reveal as little as possible, as it always was.</p><p>“So, what do you think?” She asks at last, her eyes wide as they round the latest in a series of never-ending bends in the dilapidated road that seems to be bringing them no closer to anything even resembling civilization. The weasel—Sprinkle—shifts under her hood and squeaks softly. “Do you want to come with me to Traveler Con?”</p><p>“I… I’m—fine,” he replies, trying to let her down easily. She <em>has</em> done him a kindness, and he doesn’t want to repay that with outright cruelty if he can avoid it, but with any luck, he’ll be long gone from this miserable plane by the time the event in question is supposed to take place.</p><p>“Oh.” Jester visibly deflates, but shrugs in an obvious attempt to cheer herself up. “Well, you know, that’s fine if you don’t want to, I understand. Thank you so much for listening, anyway, I <em>really</em> appreciate it.”</p><p>He decides to refrain from pointing out that she hadn’t given him very much choice in the matter if he valued his freedom, and instead nods to her. “You’re welcome. Religion is, ah… not exactly my forte, but it was interesting to learn about nonetheless.” Essek tucks the technicolor pamphlet into one of the pockets hidden beneath his mantle. Souvenirs never did anyone any harm.</p><p>“Oh, I know, he’s like, super super interesting isn’t he? You know, once he told me he strang—hey, what’s that?”</p><p>Essek follows her pointed finger past the copse of trees along the road and sees a solitary building in the middle of a clearing. It’s almost spherical, an odd shape for this part of the world, and the metal rings that comprise it seem to be interlocking and painted—they <em>must</em> be painted, no known element or alloy exists naturally in that shade—a warm golden color. It’s lit from within by a warm glow that pours out of its circular windows and over the snow-sodden ground, and the sign hanging from the low fence that surrounds it depicts an open book and a brown feather quill, symbolism that is apparently universal even between warring nations.</p><p>“Huh.” Jester frowns. “What’s a library doing out here?”</p><p>Essek isn’t terribly familiar with the planning and design of Empire towns, but he <em>is</em> reasonably certain that libraries aren’t ordinarily found miles from any city or town. But, it’s a standing structure, which is more than he’s seen so far on his unwelcome excursion to Exandria. Given how cold, tired, and pained he’s feeling right now, he’ll take it over a continued trek through the woods.</p><p>“Well, we might as well ask them. I don’t see any other options for the night, and if nothing else, they may be able to give us directions.” Though, Essek certainly doesn’t know where they’re going or anywhere that could even serve as a destination for them, and Jester seems to be more of a wanderer than someone who travels with a particular purpose in mind. Given the nature of her god, that would make sense.</p><p>“Okay, that sounds good.” Jester begins leading the way, bouncing a bit as she walks. “Hm, do you think a library has cupcakes though? In Nicodranas they usually only have donuts, but they <em>do</em> have cinnamon which makes them <em>extra</em> special...”</p><p>Essek tunes her out as he floats behind her and they close the final few yards that lead up to the building. This close, he can see rows of books through the warped windows, and his curious eyes drink in the titles despite himself. There seems to be a bit of everything: history, mythology, arcane theory, theology, even alchemy, a niche interest of his that his duties at court left little time for. The air around him turns just a fraction brighter, and he floats another inch or two off of the ground. Whatever this place is, he’s glad they’ve found it, out of place as it may seem.</p><p>Jester dramatically pushes through the double doors, though Essek floats behind her a bit more subtly. He’s well aware of the sentiments that many of the Empire still hold towards the Dynasty, and he’s not eager to provoke them if he’s recognized as one of them, which is almost certain to happen if he’s seen. There’s not much he wouldn’t give to have the magic to disguise himself right now, save for safe passage home.</p><p>He falls behind as Jester strides up to the counter at the back of the first floor, weaving between rows of bookshelves and desks that are set out for reading and note-taking alike. He’s terribly tempted to pluck a few books and sit down with them, and he slows to take a closer look. He notices for the first time that not all of them are in Common, or even—what was that language that Caleb had been speaking?—Zemnian, that was it. A number are in scripts that aren’t found on planes anywhere <em>near</em> Exandria, which strikes him as strange for a library in the middle of nowhere, but he isn’t about to take it for granted.</p><p>He pulls an older one carefully from a shelf dedicated to transmutation a bit below his eye level, taking note of the worn spine and aged parchment as he opens it. It has no title that he can discern, or even an author name, but that adds to the appeal in a strange way. He’d left a puzzle behind when he’d been freed from that tree, he might as well pick up another one, or two, or twelve.</p><p>Jester takes no notice of his distraction and immediately begins ringing the bell incessantly, and Essek hears movement from the back room, though from this angle he can’t quite see whoever exits it to attend to her. However, the thin, reedy voice that speaks sends a shudder down his spine.</p><p>“Hello there, how can I help you?”</p><p>“Uh… hi!” Jester sounds a bit thrown, even Essek can tell that, and he pauses in his reading to listen in a bit closer. “I am here... to… read! This is a library, right?”</p><p>Essek quietly lets himself float a bit closer to the floor to stay hidden before he drifts closer to the end of the aisle, peering around the corner. At this angle, he can see Jester’s back and her tail swishing nervously over the floorboards, but he can’t see the person she’s speaking to. Still, the voice is… familiar. He can’t put his finger on it, but he knows he’s heard it before. He doesn’t know if that’s relieving or suspicious, especially given where he is in the world right now.</p><p>“It is indeed. Welcome to the Folding Halls. Is there something in particular you’re looking for? I can direct you to any number of our tomes.”</p><p>Jester sighs heavily, leaning forward to put her elbows on the counter and her head in her hands. “Well, I think I’m kind of just looking right now. Ooh, but I have some really cool books I could give you! Well, okay, they’re not <em>book</em><em>s</em> really, they’re pamphlets, but they’re super duper informative and stuff.” She starts digging through the pink satchel on her back. “Have you heard of the Traveler?”</p><p>There’s no response, but Essek hears the rustling of fabric and paper as she pulls one of the pamphlets free and thrusts it towards the supposed librarian. “How… unique.”</p><p>He can picture Jester’s beaming expression as her spine straightens and her tail flicks happily. “Aw, thank you! Anyway, can we like, chill here for the night? It’s been <em>crazy</em> out there and we could use a little break.”</p><p>“’We?’”</p><p>“Oh! I… I didn’t tell you, did I?” There’s a brief pause and Essek tenses, nervous to have his position revealed to this person he <em>swears</em> he knows somehow. “This is Sprinkle! You can pet him if you want, he only really bites me.”</p><p>“That is quite alright, but I appreciate the offer. You are free to peruse as you wish.”</p><p>There’s a <em>hrmph</em> from Jester and more sounds of fabric moving as the weasel is tucked back into her armor. “Well, thank you very much for letting me know! I’ll… probably be in the way back, upstairs or something like that. Oh, do you have any cupcakes?”</p><p>“I… do not.”</p><p>“Okay, that’s fine, juuuuust asking, thanks a lot!” She’s already walking back over towards him as she speaks, and he lets her pull him back out of sight and earshot of the front desk.</p><p>“Is everything alright?” Essek whispers.</p><p>“Okay so the head librarian person is a little weird and icky looking and the other person working also seems kinda strange and I didn’t <em>really</em> want to say ‘oh by the way I’m traveling with some super cool floaty wizard person’ so I didn’t because it worried me a little and I hope that’s okay,” Jester hisses, pressing her index fingers together and biting her bottom lip as she finishes speaking.</p><p>He blinks. Is she really that concerned with his well being? She’s only known him for a few hours, if that. Essek feels a pang of something like sympathy as he realizes that he must have severely underestimated her loneliness. It makes sense that she’d latch onto the first person who had shown her attention if she’d been deprived of it for so long.</p><p>More importantly, he didn’t recognize her description. He’d worked with a multitude of dubious individuals in his years, so ‘icky-looking’ did little to narrow it down. Perhaps he had been mistaken. It <em>had</em> been a stressful day for him so far. This far from the Dynasty's eyes, he was allowed a misstep.</p><p>“I… that’s fine. Do you think we should go, or…?” He doesn’t <em>really</em> want to leave, not if he has the chance to learn a bit more and perhaps even find a way back home, but he feels like he should extend the offer to be polite.</p><p>She shrugs. “I mean, not <em>really</em>. There’s like, <em>nothing</em> else around here and like, the cold doesn’t really bother me but I don’t really want to have to spend a bunch of spells keeping you from freezing so we should probably just stay upstairs mostly and maybe leave in the morning.”</p><p>“That’s fine with me,” he says quietly, already moving to grab a few more books that had caught his eye, and a scroll case or two that look particularly enticing.</p><p>“Ooh, what are those?” Jester asks, tilting her head to read the covers as they tiptoe up the stairs in the back of the building.</p><p>“A bit of light reading,” Essek non-answers as they reach the landing. “This place seems to offer a surprisingly wide variety of topics.”</p><p>“Hm, yeah. The icky guy said this place was called the ‘Floating Halls’ or something like that, but I don’t really know if that’s supposed to be, like, super impressive or something.”</p><p>“’Folding Halls,’” Essek corrects, recalling the earlier conversation he’d eavesdropped upon. It’s not a name he’s familiar with, but perhaps one of the many books in this place would serve to explain it a bit more, if he could find it.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, that,” Jester says distractedly, waving a hand in his direction. They reach the last few stairs and the corridor opens up into a small secluded reading nook, safe from prying eyes and pricked ears. She flops into one of the chairs with a huff, digging through her haversack as Essek sits more delicately on the matching couch.</p><p>“So I’m gonna take a nap real quick,” she continues with a yawn, pulling a blanket over herself, “but I can like, look for some maps or something later.”</p><p>“It’s fine, I can do that.” Essek doesn’t stand much of a chance of sleeping this time of night anyway, so he might as well put himself to work. If he could just find the time to copy the right spell, he could return home to his tower like nothing had ever happened and get to work studying the artifact conspicuously tucked under the neckline of his cloak. He’d really rather not start on his experiments in this place if he can avoid it.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” she yawns again, her eyes already drifting closed. “If you’re sure, then…” Jester starts snoring, her mouth hanging open slightly as her head falls back.</p><p>Essek peruses the few works he’d brought with him upstairs, waiting until he’s sure she’s well past unconscious before he carefully stands up, hovering so no one downstairs will hear his footfalls. Based on the layout and organization of this place, the more detailed works on conjuration should be somewhere along the far side of his current location. He drifts between the shelves and tables, carefully listening for anyone that might be following him and feeling relief when he hears no one.</p><p>Inching into the conjuration section, he scrutinizes the different titles unwinding in front of him, looking for ones on interplanar travel. Essek isn’t sure if he should get his hopes up, but this place has been impressive thus far and he doubts its secrets will disappoint him. He runs his fingers over the leather spines and worn pages, searching, searching, <em>searching—</em></p><p>“Can I help you find anything?”</p><p>Essek freezes, his shoulders tensing and his mouth going dry. His first thought is that he isn’t disguised, and is drawing a blank on any fabrication he might weave to his interrogator. His second thought is that the voice is different from the one earlier, accented in a way more similar to his earlier captor’s and that he might not be in grave danger after all. This must be the <em>other</em> person Jester had mentioned was here.</p><p>He clears his throat as he turns around. “I am, ah, just browsing, but thank you,” he says with a polite smile.</p><p>The individual facing him is a human male, with golden-amber eyes framed by tumbling dark hair and light brown skin. He wears a red robe of sorts, complemented by the ruby hanging on a chain around his neck that, if Essek’s eyes don’t deceive him, pulses faintly with some sort of enchantment. Were he not wearing a similar adornment himself, he might have missed it entirely.</p><p>The man nods. “Very well,” he says in that same accent. “If you do require any aid, please do not hesitate to ask. The Folding Halls are at your disposal.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Essek peers a bit closer as he turns to leave and notices that his gaze seems sort of… fractured, eyes shimmering in the light. He’s seen similar expressions on certain select prisoners in the Dungeon of Penance under magical influence of some kind. But why would a simple librarian be under any sort of spell?</p><p>Before he can think any further on the topic, the flickering candlelight illuminates one of the books on the bottom shelf next to him, drawing his gaze towards it. Essek grins as he recognizes it as one of the first known books on the shifting of planes and the practical application of conjuration magic, and he leans down to snatch it up.</p><p>He drifts back to the corner where he and Jester had set up for the evening, spreading the papers across the table and preparing himself for a night of study. The relative peace and quiet is refreshing, given his experiences with this plane so far, and he ends up not needing the candles at all as his own skin begins glowing faintly. It’s still a great deal of effort to find anything remotely close to the right spell, but he appreciates the challenge. Essek can’t remember the last time he’s been appropriately stimulated in this way, and he ends up so engrossed that the slam of the front door bursting open comes as a surprise to him some hours later, and he jumps, almost spilling his inkwell over the paper of his spellbook.</p><p>Jester stirs a bit and slowly sits up, stretching her arms high over her head and yawning. She blinks at him. “What’s goin’ on?”</p><p>“I’m not sure,” Essek says quietly, leaning to get a better perspective on the sliver of the downstairs foyer he can see at this angle. He can pick up a few voices, but the words themselves are lost on him as the newcomers—he was almost certain there were more than one—move deeper into the library. He can’t think of anyone <em>reputable</em> who would be traipsing through these woods at this time of night, especially given that he himself had been doing just that earlier in the evening.</p><p>He looks back at Jester and can tell she’s thinking the same thing. She summons him over with a quick wave of her hand, and he moves over to her before he can think better of it, moving as carefully as he can to avoid any creaking floorboards that might reveal their presence.</p><p>“Okay, are we getting out of here,” she hisses quietly, “because I can make us like, super duper stealthy if you want?”</p><p>Essek hesitates. He’s as disconcerted as she is about this development, but there’s no direct evidence yet that the visitors are dangerous, and he’s loathe to leave the first comfortable setting he’s encountered in Exandria on mere suspicion, especially one as fascinating as this. That being said, endangering himself for the sake of physical comfort could prove to be unwise—but only if he was wrong.</p><p>“Perhaps not just yet,” Essek whispers, looking past her towards the staircase, where he can see the occasional shadow flickering from the first floor. “We don’t know yet exactly what we’re dealing with.”</p><p>“Hmmmmmm okay, um, I’ll go downstairs and see. Do you want me to like, disguise you as someone else and you can go down the other way and maybe one of us will see something cool?”</p><p>“I—sure, that’s fine with me.” The words are scarcely out of Essek’s mouth before Jester grins and claps both hands to the side of his face. He feels his entire body twist and morph slightly, and while it’s not strictly <em>painful</em> it’s certainly disorienting.</p><p>“<em>Phew,”</em> Jester sighs, dropping her hands, “I wasn’t <em>actually</em> sure if that would work or not because I've never used it like that before, so it’s really good that it did and I didn’t just waste a spell on something stupid.”</p><p>“I—it—what exactly did you <em>do?”</em></p><p>“I changed you into a different elf, duh!”</p><p>Essek blinks and looks down at his hands, thrown a bit at the sight of light, uninterrupted, pale skin where there had once been dark purple freckled with white and stained with blots of black ink. He’s certainly a few inches taller now as well, and his canines have retracted further up into his gums. Reaching a hand into his hair reveals it to be combed into a neat point towards the front of his head, and he represses a small shudder. While he certainly understands the necessity of the spell, it’s… uncomfortable, and makes his skin crawl in a way he hasn’t felt since his youth.</p><p>“I… see,” he manages after a while, deciding to retract under his cloak as much as possible until this ordeal is over before he realizes that it had disappeared as part of the spell. Essek panics for a moment and grabs at his (strange, different, unfamiliar) throat until he feels the chain of the dodecahedron by some miracle, and pulls it back out into view from under the patterned tunic he’s now wearing.</p><p>“Cool, cool, cool,” Jester says impatiently as he processes his situation, “now let’s go spy on these people!”</p><p>She scampers towards the far staircase, haversack thumping against her back as she disappears between the rows of shelves. Essek takes a deep breath and ventures to the first floor more carefully, treading lightly over the thick carpeting. He turns at the landing, maneuvers to avoid the torch sconce, descends the final few stairs—</p><p>And is met with the frowning face of Dusk Captain Quana Kryn.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>See, the idea to make the inn the Happy Fun Ball hit me when I was almost done with the first draft, hence me rewriting about half of this. Let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I do apologize for the impromptu hiatus! I got sick (thankfully NOT the plague lol), then had to take all of my midterms, and then messed up my thumb which made typing really difficult, and I barely had time to read fic let alone write it. Anyway, that being said, you'll notice that this chapter is a bit longer than my usual ~3500 word mark as recompense. </p><p>Additionally, times are stressful for my fellow Americans, and I hope that whatever you get out of reading this provides a brief, much needed moment of respite from the situation at large right now. So take care of yourselves, and don't forget to love each other.</p><p>Enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Caleb considers himself at least somewhat well versed in the handling of animals. His parents were farmers—or, at least, they had been farmers by the time he came around, he realizes with a grimace—and he’d spent his toddler years occasionally running through flocks of chickens or teasing the goats or chasing the foxes that lurked around the edges of Blumenthal. He’d been allowed to help shear sheep once he was old enough that his veteran father trusted him not to hurt himself. He’d even ridden on horseback a handful of times, and remembers marveling at the newfound height and strange swaying of the large creature beneath him, in awe of its apparent strength and raw power.</p><p>But it seems the fauna of the Dynasty are very different from those of the Empire, as he finds himself at a complete loss in terms of controlling or connecting with the moorbounder upon which he’s currently seated, awkwardly trying to balance himself and keep from tumbling to the rapidly moving ground beneath him.</p><p>The beast—Quana had told him its name, but it was full of so many syllables and rolling vowel sounds that he stood little chance of replicating it in his own tongue—couldn’t possibly feel any outright malice or disdain towards him, because it was an animal and that would make no sense. Yet the more they galloped, if he could call it that, through the forest, the more he was calling that into question. The Dusk Captain seemed to have command of it, but, given how much she was dividing her attention between directing it and speaking to him, Caleb wasn’t sure if it was just especially well trained or simply didn’t care to rip him to shreds at this particular moment.</p><p>“...process is called <em>consecution</em>. As you can understand, it’s therefore very important that I find this Beacon and present it to the priests of the Luxon, to claim the throne until the Bright Queen returns for her next life,” she explains as she snaps the reins once more, causing the moorbounder to pick up the pace and Caleb to grip the saddle until it hurts his fingers. “And, the only way for her to return to the Dynasty at all is if this Beacon is returned. Otherwise, she’ll be born somewhere down <em>here.”</em></p><p>Caleb doesn’t miss the slight sneer in her voice, even if her helmed face is mostly turned away from him. Her tone prickles him a bit, but he tucks away the knowledge of her attitude towards his home for future use rather than dismissing it outright. No such thing as worthless data after all, he thinks as the damning letter in his mother’s hand still tucked into his pocket grows a bit warmer through his tunic.</p><p>“I see,” he says, and he does. The process of Quana securing her own throne for a time ensures that the Bright Queen will return to the throne when that time is up. Leylas Kryn could go lifetime after lifetime—which is something Caleb is still processing, the concept of even <em>having</em> lifetime after lifetime—without losing power, and could rule over her people for as long as she wished, perhaps until the end of time if circumstance allowed it. Clever, on the yet-to-be-reborn queen’s part. Morally dubious and a tad authoritative, yes, but clever all the same. If he had that desire, and the resources with which to make it a reality, he would probably do the same thing.</p><p>“We would have means of bringing her back to her rightful home, of course, if such misfortune were to befall us. We still retain a certain… level of control over the opening and closing of the Astral Plane. A level I trust the rest of the Empire will <em>not</em> find out about.” Quana punctuates her threat with a spur of the moorbounder beneath them, and the creature gives a sharp yelp as it leaps forward, making Caleb’s stomach swoop in ways he didn’t know was possible.</p><p>“I am no friend to the Empire,” he echoes bitterly. And he’s not, not with the way it is now. He wants it to be better, dreams distantly of how he could <em>make</em> it better… But those dreams are just that, distant, far enough that he doesn’t give them more than a passing thought when he meets difficulty in finding a particular spell from a Dwendalian shop or getting the necessary ‘approved’ components for a ritual. He has more than enough on his plate right now. Time for that later.</p><p>The Dusk Captain tilts her head a bit as he speaks, and Caleb feels that cool, calculating stare sweep over him once more, even from her position in front of him on the moorbounder. But she gives him a single curt nod and he relaxes a bit. “Glad to hear it,” is all she says, if a bit quizzically.</p><p>It’s at that moment that the swirling winter storm overhead finally decides to break, soaking them both with sleet and slowly but surely adding a dangerous layer of ice to what’s left of the road. Caleb swears and pulls his patchwork coat a bit tighter around himself as best he can without letting go of his hold on the moorbounder, feeling Frumpkin shift and mewl discontentedly under his collar. There’s a light of some kind up ahead, and he thankfully does not have to voice any ideas about stopping at it to Quana, because it’s clear by the way she slows their pace and brings them towards it that she has them already. This is the place. He doesn’t know how he knows it, but he does, and that’s good enough for him right now.</p><p>By now, the half-rain half-snow slush is coming down too heavily for Caleb to see if this place has a name, or even really make out <em>what</em> it is in the first place. But he knows that the Empire isn’t fond of letting businesses stand on their own in the middle of the woods beyond the purview of tax collectors and city guards, so he’s preparing himself to keep an eye out. He briefly considers voicing his concerns to the Dusk Captain, but thinks better of it. She seems sharp enough as it is, and best not to deal out information that could better serve him close to his chest; he’s only met one other star so far, and he can’t tell yet how much information about his home he should reveal to anyone of the Dynasty.</p><p>“Let’s stop here for now,” she instructs as she dismounts gracefully. He follows swiftly but effectively, stumbling to the ground with a <em>huff</em> before righting himself.</p><p>“<em>Ja,</em> that may be best,” he says, still choosing his words carefully. Caleb tries to peer through the windows as they make their muddy, bedraggled approach, but between the storm and his own vision being ill-suited for such an endeavor, he isn’t able to make out much more than a few vague shapes and colors. But, as best he can tell, nothing seems to be moving, and the thought of having some privacy in this place away from other people is a welcome one.</p><p>His swirling thoughts of his search and what to do next are banished from his brain as they step into what is probably one of the most extensive libraries Caleb has ever been in. Despite the stress of the past few hours, his jaw drops as his eyes drink in as much as they can with the soft, yellow lighting that fills the building. The warm, musty smell of parchment and ink fills his nose, and he can practically feel the textures of smooth paper and rough wooden scroll cases under his fingertips already.Could one of these books be the key he’s been looking for? Are the secrets he’s been so desperate to unlock tucked away between theirold pages and leather bindings?</p><p>Quana clears her throat at him, snapping him from his lovely reverie.“Would you go see if there’s any stables in the far side of the property? I’ll go ask about room and board.”</p><p>“I—um, very well.” He isn’t even sure if this place <em>has</em> room and board, but she’s already striding towards the front counter, leaving him between two <em>very</em> alluring bookshelves. But, with a bit of good fortune, he’ll have all night to peruse at his leisure, so he makes his way, very reluctantly, towards the back of the building to investigate the far side of the property, scanning the rows as he does to keep his eye out for anything that could prove to be useful.</p><p>As he approaches the back door, a brief flash of red and gold catches his eye, and he turns to see a man with long brown hair and eyes the same color as the piece of amber he’s been experimenting with that he keeps tucked into his belt.He’s tall and stands with his hands clasped behind him, wearing a necklace consisting of a crimson gemstone on a thick chain, the pendant itself nestled in the hollow of his throat. His features are harsh and angular, but his face is open and welcoming with a small smile, and his tone is polite when he speaks.</p><p>“Hallo,” he says in Common tinged with Zemnian, “welcome to the Folding Halls. Can I help you find anything today?”</p><p>Caleb, not having expecting being approached or spoken to, takes a moment to clear his throat and collect his thoughts before replying. “Ah, yes, actually, if it’s, erm, not too much trouble.” He pauses for a moment, curious, and slips into his native tongue when he speaks again. <em>“My traveling companion and I were wondering if, perhaps, there would be a stable or some place where we could house our… beast for the night. She’s inquiring already about securing us a place to stay here this evening.”</em> He’s not sure of the word for ‘moorbounder’ in Zemnian, so he settles for an appropriate equivalent.</p><p>The man’s eyes light up with recognition at his words, causing Caleb to examine them a little closer. They seem strangely… flat, as if they don’t reflect the light quite right. He can’t figure out exactly why that’s bothering him, but quickly realizes that the man has started speaking.</p><p>“<em>...corner of the courtyard,”</em> he finishes, pointing over Caleb’s left shoulder with the hand not held behind his back. <em>“I would be happy to escort you if you would like.”</em></p><p>“<em>Yes, that would be fine.”</em> Caleb isn’t sure how confusing the grounds of this place could possibly be, but he’s intrigued by the person before him and more than a bit suspicious of his intentions. Enemies closer, after all.</p><p>He turns to start walking out the door, feeling physically pained as he tears himself away from the sanctuary of the library, but then three things happen in such rapid succession that he doesn’t have time to fully process them until well after the fact.</p><p>First, Caleb hears the sound of his escort’s footsteps approach him more quickly than is strictly polite or necessary from behind, followed by a tinkling of something metallic, which is what causes him to turn around and see what comes next.</p><p>Second is a flurry of blue skin and green clothing flying out from behind one of the shelves to knock into the man’s now outstretched hand and tackle him to the floor, the circular, metal object he had been holding rolling to rest at Caleb’s feet with a clatter.</p><p>Third is the blue tiefling pinning the man to the ground and casting some sort of abjuration spell with the index finger of her free hand pointed at the ruby necklace he’s wearing. The ruby glows with a menacing red light, growing in intensity for a few seconds before flashing so brightly Caleb has to avert his eyes.</p><p>When he dares to open them, the man is gone and his assailant is currently standing up with the ruby in her hand, dusting herself off with the other and looking quite pleased with herself and what she’s done.</p><p>“Oh man, oh man, oh man,” she says. “I like, <em>totally</em> didn’t know if that was going to work but I’m <em>really</em> glad it did I guess.”</p><p>Caleb stares at her in shock, then down at the ruby still held aloft between her sharp fingernails, and then down at the object he now recognizes as a collar sitting next to the toe of his left boot, putting some of the pieces together but quickly realizing he still needs more information to truly understand whatever has just transpired. “I—sorry, wh-who are you, exactly?”</p><p>“Oh! I’m Jester. And <em>this</em> guy—” she holds the ruby up even higher, and as it catches the light, Caleb can see something like mist or smoke swirling within it— “was trying to put <em>that—</em>” she points down at the collar still on the floor with her other hand— “on you, because the icky guy told him to,” she finishes matter-of-factly.</p><p>He blinks, realizing he somehow has <em>less</em> information than he did a few moments ago. But, if nothing else, this development means Caleb should find the Dusk Captain and leave as soon as he can, library and its secrets be damned. He can fall back, prepare, and return to unearth them and collect his star when he’s ready and stands a chance of making a discovery that doesn’t involve his death.</p><p>“I, uh… I need to get out of here,” he mutters, mostly to himself, but the tiefling—Jester, she’d said her name was Jester—still frowns at him as he bends to pick up the collar and tuck it into his pocket, moving almost on autopilot.</p><p>“I mean, yeah! Sheesh, come on, let’s get your friend with the weird armor and get the fuck out of here!”</p><p>Jester grabs his arm and pulls him with surprising strength back towards the front of the building, and its a testament to how nervous he is that he doesn’t even stop to grab any of the books along the way. They weave between tables and duck between rows, and finally reach the entryway to find the body of Quana Kryn crumpled at the bottom of the staircase.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Quana is not looking directly <em>at</em> him, Essek realizes once his heart starts beating again. Her gaze is turned towards the book in her hand as she idly flicks through it. He can’t see the title from here, but the design on the cover is vaguely reminiscent of the continent of Tal’Dorei.</p><p>What is she <em>doing </em>here?</p><p>She lets out an indignant <em>huff</em> and closes the book, looking towards where Essek is still frozen on the stairs as she moves to toss it aside. “Oh. Hello. My apologies, allow me to introduce myself—I am Quana Kryn, Dusk Captain of the Kryn Dynasty.”</p><p>Essek smiles as he shakes her hand, hoping she doesn’t notice how much his is shaking. She hasn’t recognized him. Of course she wouldn’t with the spell, he knows that, of course he <em>knows</em> that, but it’s a relief all the same. “Dezran Thane,” he replies smoothly, listing the first alias he can think of off the top of his head. “I am, ah, one of the local lords here.” It’s a terrible lie; he doesn’t even really know where <em>here</em> is, but she doesn’t need to know that.</p><p>She nods curtly. “A pleasure.”</p><p>He clears his throat. “Tell me, what brings someone of the Kryn Dynasty to this part of the Empire? I thought the Astral Plane was sealed off as part of the war effort.” Essek is almost certain he knows the answer, but hearing it from her own mouth would reveal how much she knows.</p><p>“I’m looking for something. An artifact that belongs to my people, to win the right to ascend the throne in my wife’s absence. The crash site isn’t far from here, so my hope is that someone here might know something.” Quana’s eyes narrow. “Have <em>you</em> seen anything?”</p><p>Essek almost laughs. “I’m afraid not,” he says as casually as he can. “I’m just here for a bit of late night research.”</p><p>“Hm. A pity. Well, if you see or hear of a necklace with a twelve-sided glowing pendant—”</p><p>And of course, that’s when the light flickers to fall over what’s around his neck. Essek watches her glance down and her face fall, twisting into shock followed by confusion and finally anger.</p><p>“You—”</p><p>There’s a sound of a scuffle from further down the hall, followed by a flash of red light that sweeps through the library as if it were fire. Essek is thankfully still concealed within the stairwell, and therefore has more shadow to protect his vision than the Dusk Captain does, which is why he throws caution to the wind and uses the distraction to duck nimbly past her and head for the door.</p><p>He feels the air <em>swoosh</em> just behind him and the subsequent <em>crack</em> of metal hitting wood as she swings at him with her sword, but he’s twisting behind a bookcase before she can strike again and starts moving between the shelves, trying desperately to lose her as she starts tailing him. This was probably the worst possible outcome he could have hoped for. <em>Where</em> was Jester?</p><p>Essek hears a voice then, one he recognizes in a split second as the same one the tiefling he’d just been wondering about had spoken to when they’d first arrived in this wretched place. But, he recognizes the words themselves as a malicious, powerful spell a second too late. He crouches, horrified, watching through the gaps in the books as Quana Kryn halts her pursuit, stumbles, clutches a hand to her chest, and falls to the ground, unmoving. The Beacon around his neck gives an ominous pulse of light a few seconds later, and his entire body ices over. He doesn’t move, doesn’t <em>breathe</em> as he tries to carefully watch what happens next.</p><p>The spellcaster—Essek can’t see his face from his hiding spot, only a portion of the robed torso as it meanders forward—approaches where her body had fallen, apparently pausing to kick it to see if she was dead. He hears more words in that language Caleb had spoken earlier, but only takes note of the word <em>‘crick’</em> as the speaker finishes, pauses and twists slightly as though searching for something, and finally turning down one of the corridors to disappear once more.</p><p>Bile rises in his throat. His heart pounds so hard it starts to physically hurt. He <em>has</em> to get out of here, but without his magic—</p><p>There’s the sound of footsteps racing towards his location then, and he looks to see Jester running hand in hand with—with Caleb Widogast, of all people, who stares down at Quana’s body wide eyed for a moment, during which Essek steps out of his hiding place to float quickly over to both of them.</p><p>Caleb looks up and darts over, meeting him halfway as Jester begins investigating the dead body with what almost looked like glee, picking up her sword and scrutinizing the blade.</p><p>“Are you okay?” He asks, grabbing Essek’s shoulders and looking him up and down. Essek blinks, following his gaze to realize that whatever spell Jester had put on him to change his form is gone now, and breathes a quick sigh of relief at having his own body again.</p><p>He nods. “I’m fine.” He has no idea why Caleb is here of all places, with Quana Kryn of all people, but there will be plenty of time for him to ask later once they’ve dealt with the threat still lurking in the Halls. “I—”</p><p>His explanation is cut short by a flash of white light from the back room, followed by a roaring wall of flame that wraps around their position in the library. Jester scampers back from the body, cut off from them, but quickly preparing a spell of her own to launch back at their attacker as he emerges from the source of the light.</p><p>Essek finds himself pushed behind Caleb and then towards the wall as he steps both of them back, meaning he still can’t <em>see</em> whoever it is that’s after them from this angle let alone <em>attack</em> them in any way. His perspective is all smoke and fire and the edges of the shelves around them and Caleb’s head and shoulders as his own back hits the wall and he’s pressed firmly against it.</p><p>Even so, through the rising haze of smog, he realizes exactly what that bright light is—not the fire, but the soft, grey-ish white glow emanating from behind whoever is currently trying to kill them. He saw a similar pulse not even a full minute ago as Quana’s soul was pulled into the Beacon currently resting against neck. As much as he doesn’t want to believe it, because wouldn’t that just be the perfect cosmic joke… their attacker is using a Beacon against them, and all the raw power of dunamis itself.</p><p>A brief, frantic laugh escapes Essek’s throat, and he regrets the loss of air instantly when he inhales a lungful of smoke and ash, heat stinging his eyes as he coughs back it up. There’s only one other known Beacon down on Exandria, the other one that passed from his hands a mere three decades ago. Unless the people down here have drastically increased their archaeological efforts, which he seriously doubts, this must be that same one. And it’s about to be used to kill him. If there is a Luxon after all, he can’t help but think that this is their way of laughing at him.</p><p>The Archmage—it could only be one of three people in Exandria, if Essek is not mistaken, though he’ll probably die without knowing which one—says something in that same language he doesn’t understand, which he can only think means it’s directed at Caleb. Why, he has no idea, but Essek is close enough that he can <em>feel</em> how tense Caleb gets upon hearing it.</p><p>“Essek,” Caleb breathes from in front of him, his voice dangerously low with what he could almost believe is <em>anger</em>, barely audible over the crackling flames. “Hold me tight, and think of home.”</p><p>He blinks. That was <em>not</em> the dying wish Essek had been expecting, or hoping, to hear from him. “What?”</p><p>“Just do it!”</p><p>Essek isn’t about to argue, so he wraps his arms around Caleb’s waist and squeezes, closing his eyes in time to see a final burst of pinkish-purple conjuration magic from Jester’s position on the other side of the fire, and Caleb’s hand thrust itself into the flames surrounding them—with the Bazzoxan candle in it.</p><p><em>Oh</em>, he thinks, face twisting into a smile where it presses against Caleb’s shoulder. <em>Clever</em>.</p><p>The wick ignites and he thinks of the stars above, of streets lined with twilight, of his own tower filled with instruments and experiments and unused guest rooms and dust covered furniture and books he’s read a thousand thousand times over. Gravity shifts and twists around them and suddenly they’re falling, falling, falling—</p><p>—hitting something so hard his knees buckle and the wind is knocked out of him, and in trying to breathe it back in he’s met with a mouthful of pouring rain from the clouds above. No, not above, <em>around</em>, because they are currently quite literally in the middle of a storm right now, a point punctuated by a flash of lightning and a piercing thunderclap not twenty feet to their left.</p><p>Essek hauls himself to his feet, catching sight of Caleb doing the same a little ways away from him, looking around the torrential rainfall with a similar look of confusion. “<em>Verdammt</em>, where in the Hells did you take us?” He demands.</p><p>“<em>Me?” </em>Essek grits his teeth, taken aback by Caleb’s sudden anger but more than ready to reciprocate it. <em>“You’re</em> the one who said to think of home, so that’s exactly what I did! Where did <em>you</em> take us? Do you not know how to light a candle properly?”</p><p>“<em>I</em> was trying to get us back to Blumenthal! That’s what <em>I</em> did,” Caleb shouts over the rain. Another clap of thunder deafens them both for a few moments, and he sees Caleb slam his hands over his ears in irritation as well as a flash of fur as Frumpkin sinks lower under his coat collar.</p><p>“Oh, great, excellent!” He wipes his wet hair out of his face, sending more drops scattering down onto his already soaked mantle. “So <em>you</em> thought of Blumenthal, and <em>I</em> thought of Rosohna, and now here we are between the two,” Essek shouts back.</p><p>The elemental plane of air would make the most sense, given their surroundings and the plane’s relative celestial location, and the part of Essek that isn’t outraged and panicking is thrilled for a moment. He’s been trying to do some research on the connecting nether between the elements, after all, and he’s been told that field experience is valuable. That hasn’t been his experience with it thus far, unfortunately.</p><p>“<em>Scheisse</em>,” Caleb spits sharply, pulling his hands through his hair, which is so dark from the rain it’s closer to streaks of blood than wisps of flame. “Are you always this insufferably difficult?”</p><p>“’Difficult?’ <em>You’re</em> the one who messed it up, Widogast! I’ve never even <em>been</em> to your home, so <em>why</em> would I try to go there?” He’s screaming more out of anger and lingering fear now than out of an effort for Caleb to hear him properly, but he doesn’t care. How <em>dare</em> this man insult him for trying to get them both away? Did he even hear himself?</p><p>“Oh, I’m so sorry that while trying to <em>save your life</em> from one of the most evil, corrupt mages in Wildemount, I didn’t give you perfect instructions on how to get us the hell out of there,” Caleb yells right back, jabbing his finger into Essek’s chest. “I’d hoped you’d be smart enough to extrapolate on your own, but it seems I overestimated—”</p><p>A heavy weight slams into Essek from behind and he topples forward, sprawling awkwardly under whatever it is that’s knocked him over and seeing stars for a brief, wistful moment. When his vision comes back to him, he sees Caleb’s face a few inches from his own behind a network of rough-hewn rope, twisted into a similar expression of pain and dismay.</p><p>“C-Cap’n Tusktooth,” a low, rolling voice calls from somewhere above and behind him. Essek twists to see a vaguely humanoid figure with some sort of hunchback silhouetted against the flashes of lightning around them. “Looks like we’ve got a r-real treat here!”</p><p>Over the still pounding rain, howling wind, and booming thunder, Essek hears the <em>stomping</em> of heavy footfalls as a taller figure approaches them and stares them down. Another burst of lightning reveals the visage of a half-orc man dressed in attire that Essek would associate with the typical pirate—leather boots, a long cloak, straps and buckles criss-crossing his pants and tunic, and an almost comically large three-pointed hat to top it off. Essek instinctively glances at Caleb to make sure he’s not hallucinating whoever this person is, and from the other wizard’s look of shock, he isn’t.</p><p>The man crouches in front of them and tilts his head to one side, the angle accentuating the two pointed tusks the peak out from his lower lip and the scar on his face. “Well, hell,” he drawls as the latest clap of thunder echoes around them. “What brings you two to the deck of <em>my ship</em> in the middle of the sky this fine evening, huh?”</p><p>Essek blinks twice. His mouth opens but no words come out, and he lets it fall closed again. He looks at Caleb again for some assistance, only to see a similar reaction playing out over his features. Neither of them end up saying anything.</p><p>The half-orc—Captain Tusktooth, Essek presumes—makes a <em>hrmph</em> sound and stands up, looking over his shoulder to address someone else. “Yasha? Throw these two in the brig for the time being, why don’t you? We’ll see if a night or two down there can, uh, <em>loosen their tongues</em> a bit.”</p><p>The most muscular woman Essek has ever seen emerges from the shadows further down the ship—that’s right, apparently they’re on a ship in the middle of the sky, that’s <em>perfectly</em> logical—and marches towards them, long hair swinging freely. The lightning seems to almost crackle around her as if its drawn to her form, and Essek can’t quite dismiss the flickering, shadowy set of <em>wings</em> that rise from her back as a trick of the light.</p><p>“Aye-aye, Captain.” Her voice is soft, but it manages to carry better than anyone else’s so far. She looks down at them with mismatched eyes set in painted, pale skin before hauling them both to their feet.</p><p>Essek hisses at the sudden motion, biting his tongue to keep from crying out in pain, but before either he or Caleb can protest, they’re being dragged into the belly of the ship, bound by their wrists and ankles, and tossed roughly into what must be the brig, to await whatever fate these people decide to bring down upon them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm playing all sorts of games with 5e's mechanics, I know, but Rule of Cool and all that ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>~It's been a whiiiiiiiiiiile~ but HERE have a chapter!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their jailer, whose name Caleb had heard was ‘Yasha’ over the pouring rain and ringing in his ears back up on the deck of the ship, had done them the courtesy of tying them to chairs rather than leaving them in a heap on the moldy floorboards. Given how his day had been going so far, he considered that to be a victory, even if it was one that was slowly cutting off the blood to his arms and pinning his left leg at an awkward angle.</p>
<p>He hisses through his teeth as he quickly gives up straining against the ropes, the release of tension leaving his body slumped halfway over. Caleb allows himself one heavy, frustrated sigh before he slowly raises his pounding head, registering for the first time that Essek had been tied to the other chair directly behind him. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” It’s a stupid question, and he knows it, but Essek laughs bitterly and that reassures him a little. </p>
<p>“Well,” he exhales, accent more pronounced with the apparent exhaustion they’re both suffering, “we’re alive, if nothing else, and with our current circumstances I’m grateful for that.”</p>
<p>Caleb let out a single tired chuckle of his own; apparently the star was counting his own small victories. “That is true. I… to be entirely honest, I wasn’t sure if we were going to make it out of there.”</p>
<p>It had to be fire. It had to be <em> him </em> , the face who had been haunting his nightmares that were never quite just nightmares. This had to happen now, in the middle of all of this. Everything was falling apart, and the tighter he tried to grab onto it long enough to even <em> understand </em> it, the quicker it slipped through his fingers. He wasn’t sure what else he expected. He wasn’t sure what else he deserved.</p>
<p>“Neither was I.” Essek sighs, binging him back to reality. “I don’t see any obvious methods of escape, and—well, I don’t exactly have any magic with me,” he mutters pointedly.</p>
<p>Caleb winces. Perhaps he had been a bit <em> overeager </em> in his methods of capture earlier. “I’m sure we can figure something out.” With his hands bound and his component pouch stuck on his belt, he’s extremely limited in the magic he can feasibly perform, which is disconcerting in its own right. He felt… vulnerable. Exposed. Weak. He hated it.</p>
<p>“And if one of them returns before we’re able to free ourselves? What then?”</p>
<p>He clears his throat. “Well, it’s simple: we explain to them that we’re fleeing one of the single most dangerous mages in Exandria and attempting to travel across the multiverse itself to return to our respective homes, I suppose.”</p>
<p>Essek laughs more genuinely at that, throwing his head back against Caleb’s shoulder for a brief moment. “Yes, and don’t forget the fact that one of us is carrying a very valuable religious artifact that also happens to be one of the most potent sources of magic energy in existence.”</p>
<p>“Hm, yes, there’s that as well.” Caleb pauses. “I, um—I don’t know how much you saw before we were, well, barely escaping with our lives, but I did travel briefly with another member of the Dynasty, a Quana Kryn. I don’t know where she came from or how she got here, but she filled me in a bit on the function of the Beacons, as I understand.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I did run into her. I’m—afraid she didn’t make it out of the fray. My condolences.”</p>
<p>The turbulence of Caleb’s mind calms for a moment as he zeroes in on Essek’s words. He’s holding something back, and he gets the sense that there’s more to the story than he’s being let in on. It’s a feeling he’s had more and more these past few days—few <em> hours, </em>really, though it’s been more directed outward at the universe and inward at whatever’s lurking in his own thoughts and memories and the shadows that creep there. He’s not sure if he should be suspicious of Essek and his intentions, or relieved that he now has a more tangible mystery to unfold than the half-revealed one that’s landed in his lap, or both. He settles for both.</p>
<p>“We weren’t particularly close,” he ends up saying, “though I appreciate the sentiment.” </p>
<p>“I understand.” Essek exhales, and Caleb feels him shift slightly in the admittedly uncomfortable chair. “Well, is it even worth trying to form a genuine escape plan from this place?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure where we would go,” Caleb muses. “We <em> are </em> on a ship in the middle of the sky. Are we even in Exandria anymore?”</p>
<p>“I doubt it, given the… mishap with the candle.” It’s clear Essek isn’t trying to reignite their screaming match on the top deck, for which Caleb is grateful. They have more pressing matters right now, and neither can afford to give into their respective frustrations. “My guess would be the elemental plane of air, though I admit I do not know our precise location within it.”</p>
<p>Scheisse. Another <em> plane? </em> Before a few days ago, he’d barely even left Blumenthal, and now he was—he didn’t even know how far away he was from home, or if distance on the scale they were now at even worked the same way. He suddenly feels very very <em> small </em>, as if the universe and all its vast infinities are cascading around him and he’s swept up in their flow. </p>
<p>He sighs heavily and slumps more, squeezing his eyes shut and once again trying to make head and possibly tail of the puzzle pieces he has. What he knows is this. There is something going on with him. It’s related to why his mother left. It’s somewhat adjacent to this… ‘process’ in the Dynasty, perhaps. </p>
<p>There’s more he <em> doesn’t </em> know, but whatever crystalline bolt of inspiration that had seemed to clarify so much earlier has fogged and muddied with time, the dream slipping through his fingers and back into the aether. He remembers shadow, and light, and purple, and red, and different <em> emotions </em> that he can and can’t name, all laced with a deep sense of familiarity. He can’t recall <em> why </em> he’d known how to find Essek, or the significance of why he knew, just that he did, and that had been all that mattered to him at the time.</p>
<p>He also knows that, trapped as he is, he still stands at a crossroads: down one path, his mother and her rescue. Down the other, Astrid and her hand. He knows how one could more easily lead to the other, and it’s the one that seems more reasonable given his current circumstances and company. So why now, in the damp cargo hold of some ship drifting through who knows where, is he hesitating?  </p>
<p>Caleb blinks, abruptly realizing just how much time has passed while he’s been sitting and that Essek is probably waiting for an answer from him, and he quickly backtracks through their conversation in his head. “That is… a long way from home. For both of us, I fear.”</p>
<p>“‘Home.’” Essek’s voice is bitter. “What a generous word for it. But, you’re right,” he says after a silent pause that speaks volumes, “and I don’t know of any way back to the rest of the Dynasty from here. I can imagine we’ll have to persuade these—<em> sailors </em> to return us to the Empire and go from there.”</p>
<p>“Indeed,” Caleb says softly, pointedly <em> not </em> thinking about <em> where </em> they would go from there.</p>
<p>“And,” Essek continues, blessedly derailing his train of thought, “I do suppose you have my gratitude. For coming to my aid, that is.”</p>
<p>Caleb can’t help but scoff a bit. “I feel the need to point out that you wouldn’t <em> be </em> in this situation at all were it not for me.” Perhaps it isn’t in his best interest to point that out. No, it <em> definitely </em> isn’t in his best interest to point that out, but he can’t seem to help himself. He doesn’t feel <em> good </em> about having put Essek in this position, but it needed to be done. And he didn’t have to feel good about it, he just had to do it.</p>
<p>Essek shrugs, the motion knocking their shoulders together for another brief, heartstopping moment. “Certainly not. But, you have my thanks all the same. There <em> are </em> favors owed, still,” Essek warns.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Caleb says. But then something unexpectedly softens in his chest a bit, and he awkwardly maneuvers his hands in their bindings to reach for Essek’s, and ends up grabbing his forearm instead. He gives it a brief squeeze all the same in a meek show of reassurance. “I am… sorry that I’ve put you in this position,” he whispers. He’s surprised that he says it. He’s surprised that he means it. “I do mean to keep my promise of returning you to your—to wherever you wish to go, once this is done.” </p>
<p>There’s a beat where Essek’s arm tenses against his, and Caleb thinks he’s going to pull away, but then he relaxes. “I... appreciate the insinuation.”</p>
<p>They lapse into a surprisingly companionable silence after that, each too exhausted to really hold a conversation. Caleb’s entire body still <em> aches </em>, he’s definitely burned from igniting the candle, and his head is steadily pounding with the faint echoes of thunder beyond the walls of the ship’s hull. He doesn’t have it in him to stop himself from leaning back against Essek’s shoulder, and he certainly can’t stop himself from slowly drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Essek wakes to the cacophonous <em> bang </em> of the metal brig door as it’s flung open against the wall and jumps, now face-to-face with the half-orc man—Captain Tusktooth, his mind supplies, though it does him very little good right now—as he steps inside and closes the hatch behind him. Caleb startles awake behind him, stuck facing away but trying to turn around to see what’s going on.</p>
<p>Their captor slowly circles them both with his hands clasped behind his back, scrutinizing them as a customer might a row of fresh meat or expensive spices. Essek watches him carefully, saying nothing. Caleb is silent and tense at his back, and that’s the only thing that almost lets a few words of quiet reassurance slip past the haughty, righteous mask he’s currently donned.</p>
<p>Finally, Captain Tusktooth pulls a barrel from against the wall with a loud drawn-out <em> scrape </em>and sits down on it, legs extended out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He presses his palms flat against his thighs and leans forward. “Comfortable?”</p>
<p>Essek can’t help but snort, and subtly shifts to better hide the chain around his neck beneath his shirt collar. He would worry about the Beacon, and Quana Kryn, and Caleb’s knowledge of it later, once his heart was guaranteed to keep beating. “You’ve tied us up and locked us in a dingy closet for hours now, what do you think?”</p>
<p>“I <em> assure </em> you, that  probably one of the best ways that little showdown up there could’ve gone for you two.” The captain sits up straighter and crosses his arms in front of him, doubtless trying to make his appearance as intimidating as possible to get some straight answers out of them. Even though Essek knows on some level that it’s a farce, it’s no less ineffective.</p>
<p>“Oh, does that mean there’s a better one?” Caleb asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. Essek smiles.</p>
<p>“There’s the one where I toss you two off the side of the ship if you don’t tell me where you came from. That one would be a hell of a lot better for <em> me, </em> at least. So <em> get. </em> Talkin’.” </p>
<p>Essek can’t see Caleb from his current position, but he feels as though they share a series of split second thoughts all the same. Their options are limited and their hands are quite literally <em> tied </em> with regards to any magical means of escape. Working with this individual as opposed to against him was their best chance to stay alive.</p>
<p>“Very well,” Caleb sighs before he can speak. “We, um… we came from the Empire, but a mishap of a magical nature is what brought us here. I assure you it was unintentional, and we bear you and your crew no ill will. We’d just like to return to Wildemount, or even just Exandria at this point.”</p>
<p>Clever, Essek can’t help but think. Enough information to seem forthright and genuine, and none of it was an outright lie, but still kept enough secret that their situation and identities weren’t entirely revealed, lest this captain figure decide they were more  trouble than they were worth and turn them in or throw them overboard. He couldn’t have done it better himself.</p>
<p>Even so, there’s a slight but marked change in the half-orc’s demeanor. Essek sees it in the slight raising of an eyebrow, the shift of a shoulder, the tilt of a jaw. He stands up from the barrel and strides over towards them, and Essek fights the urge to shrink back into his chair as he leans into their space. “What did you say?”</p>
<p>Caleb inhales sharply, and Essek can picture the startled but curious look on his face as clear as day. “I—I said we came from the Empire, but a mishap of a magical nature is what—”</p>
<p>“A <em> magical </em> nature?”</p>
<p>“<em> Ja. </em> Um, y-yes. I… I’m sorry, I know the situation is very complicated and—”</p>
<p>Captain Tusktooth stands up straight, peering down at them with an expression that Essek can’t read anything tangible into, much to his frustration. He sighs slowly through his nose before stepping back. “Stay there,” he says as he turns to leave the room, which Essek finds a bit redundant given that they’re still bound.</p>
<p>His ears prick and he hears a few quiet, occasionally harsh whispers, but he can’t make out the words or who is actually speaking to whom. Essek is tempted to ask Caleb if he can hear anything, but this whole situation seems so delicate that even the wrong breath could shatter it, and so he remains silent. Caleb, too, is quiet at his back, and Essek finds himself fighting the unexpected urge to reach for his hand in encouragement, as had been done for him the previous night. </p>
<p>Finally, after what feels like forever, the door creaks open again, and the increasingly bizarre Captain Tusktooth steps back into the dingy brig, flanked this time on either side by the woman with the strange eyes and greatsword that was easily as long as Essek was tall, and an even taller, pink haired, grey-furred individual that he could barely even identify let alone make anything of. He gives Essek a serene smile and lifts a hand in their direction, either apathetic to their plight or nonchalant towards it. He wasn’t sure which was better.</p>
<p>“Hey there,” the creature—a firbolg, Essek was fairly sure—rumbles. “It’s nice to meet y’all. Sorry about all this, it’s a bit tricky.” He gestures to the chairs and the ropes binding them in place. Had Essek been facing Caleb, he certainly would have shared a bewildered glance with him in that moment.</p>
<p>Captain Tusktooth clears his throat. “Right, yes, you see… you got here with magic, you said?” His voice is… different now. More of a lilt, and less of a drawl.</p>
<p>Again, Essek resists the currently impossible urge to glance at Caleb. “That is correct, yes,” he says instead, ever so curious as to where this conversation is leading.</p>
<p>“And that’s something that you two… know a lot about?”</p>
<p>“...That would also be correct, yes.”</p>
<p>“Right right right, okay. So, I have a question.” The captain flicks his hand, and with a spray of seawater that washes over them and drips down onto the perpetually wet floorboards, a long, sharp, curved falchion appears in his hand. The blade itself is encrusted with barnacles, and an eye-shaped gem—it <em> must </em> be a gem, Essek thinks, but <em> how </em> is the pupil following them?—embedded in the hilt appears in his hand. He holds it upright and angles it so that the eye catches the dim candlelight that flickers in the room. “Do either of you two magic-people have <em> any </em> idea what this thing is?”</p>
<p>Essek raises his eyebrows, but even through his dismay, he’s the one that speaks first. “I… well, I would have to study it to get a better idea, something that’s a bit difficult with our current—”</p>
<p>“Oh, right right, sorry about that. Uh, Yasha?”</p>
<p>“I’ve got it.” Yasha steps forward and pulls her greatsword from her back. Essek seizes up in fear for a moment, half-expecting her to swing it down on them, but she instead uses it like an awkward razor to cut through their bindings. He stretches carefully once they’ve fallen away, already grimacing at how his muscles have tensed up from having sat in that position for so long and dreading the coming days of soreness.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he says nonetheless, happy to have his range of motion back at least. He still doesn’t have his magic, however, which leaves him all the more unhappy, but he can rectify that soon enough.</p>
<p>“Yes, thank you,” Caleb adds, twisting around in his seat. Now that Essek can see him, he finds himself taking stock of his appearance, and is relieved to find he’s a bit worse for wear but doesn’t seem to have any major injuries besides his hand.</p>
<p>“Here,” the firbolg says, indicating the wounded hand in question. “Lemme just take care of that for you real quick.” He closes one of his own hands around it and mutters what Essek knows instinctively to be a prayer. The blistering burn on Caleb’s hand slowly fades, the skin still pink and a bit raw but markedly improved from its previous state.</p>
<p>“Thank you again,” Caleb sighs, flexing his fingers. </p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it. I’m Caduceus Clay, by the way, it’s really nice to meet you both.” Caduceus shakes both of their hands in turn with that same smile.</p>
<p>“I’m Yasha, but I think you already knew that. Um… hi anyway.” Yasha lifts one hand a bit awkwardly in their direction.</p>
<p>“And I’m Fjord,” the apparently former Captain Tusktooth says to them with a wave that’s a bit more confident. “The whole ‘Captain Tusktooth’ thing is… well, it’s a long story that’s mostly an accident, if you can believe it.”</p>
<p>“Strangely enough, I think I can,” Essek mutters. He’s getting a better idea of just who and what these people are, now that their behavior and the resulting dynamic is so different.</p>
<p>“Yeah, probably. Well, anyway, here’s the deal: I have this sword that can do all this weird shit, and it has <em> this </em> thing—” he taps the eye that Essek can no longer convince himself is simply a gem— “in it, and I have no idea what either of them do, or what the effects could be if, say, someone were to accidentally-on-purpose swallow a similar one. And, I would greatly appreciate it if either of you could give me some help with figuring it out. We’ll take you home and all that afterwards, on my honor.”</p>
<p>Now that they’re untied, Essek <em> can </em> share an incredulous, judgmental glance with Caleb, and it’s oh so worth the wait when he does so briefly before turning back to their former captors and current tentative allies <em> . </em> </p>
<p>“Well,” Caleb says slowly, “I, um… either of us could certainly figure <em> something </em> out, but I’m afraid it would have to wait until tomorrow, as I don’t have that magic ready for today. Or any magic, really, given that you, erm…” He points down to the now severed ropes on the floor.</p>
<p>Fjord winces. “Right, sorry about all of that. Thing is, uh… our hold on this ship is kind of… <em> tenuous </em>, you might say.”</p>
<p>“And why is that?” Essek asks with a frown.</p>
<p>“We stole it,” Yasha says bluntly.</p>
<p>Essek raises his eyebrows. <em> “Really?” </em></p>
<p>“Yep.”</p>
<p>“‘Stole’ is a strong word,” Fjord protests, “It’s more like we ‘unintentionally borrowed’ it for a while. But, anyway, it’s imperative that the crew continue thinking we’re <em> actual </em> pirates and not a couple of idiots who ended up piloting a ship through another plane completely by accident. So we can’t exactly just let you two wander freely about the ship, given that we just did the whole <em> ‘we’re pirates and now you’re our prisoners’ </em> bit. It would reflect <em> really </em> poorly on us and fuck things up.”</p>
<p>Essek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, in and out. Part of him wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all is, and the other wants to scream. He would give just about anything to whisk himself and Caleb away from this place right now, but he can’t. So, if this <em> mess </em> is what he has to work with for now, then so be it.</p>
<p>“Very well,” he sighs. “Then, what do you propose? Because we are <em>not</em> staying in here the whole time,” he says, gesturing to the grimy room around them.</p>
<p>They all look at each other for a few moments with varying levels of cluelessness before Fjord finally breaks the silence.</p>
<p>“I might have something that could work,” he mutters half to himself. “It’ll be tricky, but it could go great if we pull it off.”</p>
<p>“I’ve got nothing,” Caduceus says with a grin, “so let’s hear it.”</p>
<p>Yasha just shrugs, deferring to the rest of them. Essek looks to Caleb, who looks to him at the same time, and they each somehow convey multitudes with a single expression before turning back to face the others. “We’re willing to hear it, at least,” Caleb concludes.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Fjord says, adjusting his hat. “If you’re all on board, then here’s what we’re going to do.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm pretty busy with Essek Week stuff right now, BUT this is ready and it's been a bit so I'm posting it now as a treat. I don't believe there are any additional specific content warnings for this chapter, but do let me know if there's something that warrants tagging.</p>
<p>Enjoy! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s the most ridiculous plan Essek has ever heard in his life, which he knows for a fact is a qualified assessment. But, it’s the only one they’ve got and it just might work, so he’s willing to try lest any other options suddenly become available to them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None do, which is how Essek finds himself being led in chains alongside Caleb towards the top deck for their ‘captors’ to ‘eat’ them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s cheers and jeers alike from the rest of the crew, save only for the hunched tortle who stays stoically at the helm, as they’re led from belowdecks to the open air and paraded towards the cabins. Yasha gives their ropes a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tug</span>
  </em>
  <span> and almost sends Essek careening to the floor, which he promises to remember for later. Thankfully, Caleb manages to awkwardly catch him before he makes a complete fool of himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s right, you’re both going to be stew by the day’s end,” Fjord bellows dramatically as he leads the way to the bow of the ship, where the door to the captain’s quarters awaits them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Essek does his best to look appropriately terrified, but this whole situation is a bit too ridiculous for him to really commit to the bit. Thankfully, if the reactions of the crew are any indication, he doesn’t need to be too convincing in his circumstance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haven’t had fresh meat in a while, have we?” Fjord continues. The crew all eagerly confirm that, no, they indeed have </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! So, I hope there will be no interruptions while our resident cook takes his time preparing for us to eat </span>
  <em>
    <span>properly</span>
  </em>
  <span><em>,</em> or else you’ll get thrown into the pot as well. Understand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crew all nod, some clearly disappointed at being denied a peak at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>process</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which does give Essek pause given that they’re likely to be aboard this vessel and interacting with these individuals for a while if all goes according to plan. But, that’s a problem for later, now that they’re being ushered and yanked through the small door and down a small, rickety staircase into the space that lies below.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The interior of the cabin is surprisingly spacious and comfortable given the dingy conditions of the rest of the ship. The light scent of moss indicates who is responsible for its cleanliness, which Essek cannot say strictly surprises him. He stands a bit awkwardly before Fjord remembers that both he and Caleb had their hands bound, and he undoes the ropes as painlessly as he can.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Again, very sorry for all the fuss. It’s just a bit </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicate</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now,” their Captain chuckles awkwardly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, it is… understandable,” Caleb says as his bindings fall to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were overselling it,” Essek says stiffly, rubbing his already sore wrists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fjord cringes a bit. “Yes, well… Tea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m already on it,” Caduceus calls from an adjoining room, which Essek surmises to be the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That would be excellent,” Essek says with a polite smile, glancing discreetly at Caleb. The human did not seem to be responding well to their recent harrowing endeavors or their restless night in the brig, and Essek was anxious for him—for </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> of them, of course both of them, to get some rest soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Well, erm… have a seat, if you don’t mind. Yasha, would you—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yasha grabs two of the chairs from in front of the fireplace and drags them over to the large desk along the other wall of the room, wood-on-wood making a harsh screeching noise that causes Essek’s ears to flatten against his skull.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Thank you.” Fjord clears his throat, adjusts the buttons on his coat, and takes his own seat. “Anyway, we should review the plan from here: you two will sneak off of the ship when we pull into dock later today with the Air Ashari. We’ll ‘meet up’ with you both while we’re delivering the latest lightning shipment to Marius—he’s a bit of a ditz, that one, so it should be fairly easy to pull the wool over his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Once </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” he gestures towards Caleb— “are disguised and passed off as my cousin traveling with a friend, I’ll offer you safe passage back towards the Menagerie Coast. We can take you as far as the Labenda Swamp, but you’re on your own from there,” he warns. “Sorry, but we do have a bottom line, and I don’t want to get within a hundred miles of the Empire’s capital.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you don’t,” Essek says, choosing to save Caleb from functioning as the voice of diplomacy during this time. “And, again, we thank you for being so… understanding of our circumstances.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb doesn’t seem to take note of the duty he’s being spared, because he lifts his head to speak. “How long will it take us? To reach the Swamp, I mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fjord rubs his chin and frowns for a moment before pulling a map from seemingly out of nowhere and laying it across his desk. “Hm, let’s see… if the weather holds, we could probably get there four or five days from now, give or take a day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Four or five days…” Caleb mutters, his eyes seeing something Essek can’t hope to comprehend. Then he nods. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ja</span>
  </em>
  <span>, okay, that can work. Thank you,” he adds quickly, “I, um… well, this can’t have been very easy to coordinate on your end, and we appreciate the mercy and kindness you’ve shown us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fjord waves a hand. “Please. Just fulfill your end of the bargain and we’ll call it even. Speaking of which,” he continues, shifting forwards in his heavy leather chair, “what, um… What exactly do you need in order to do that? A place, some materials, or…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Essek and Caleb both glance at each other before either of them speak. To simply gain a passing knowledge of what the weapon in question could do and what its functions were, it wouldn’t take much out of either of them. However, a deeper understanding of it wasn’t something Essek immediately had at his fingertips, though he could certainly take the time to look up the spell and get it ready.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It depends on how much information you want,” is his answer at last. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As much as you can give me. I can—when we get to the Coast, I can stop for some components if that’s what’s needed. Just name your price.” There’s a tinge of desperation in his voice that pricks at Essek’s subconscious. In any other circumstance, he would be quick to use that to his advantage and see what he can weasel out of this individual, but that hardly seems necessary right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can provide you with some general knowledge on it, today,” Caleb says, hand drifting unconsciously towards the pouch hanging inconspicuously on his hip. “I have heard of such spells that can give more details. Legends and stories and whatnot. However, I fear that is not something I have in my skillset. At least not yet,” he adds quietly, brow slightly furrowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it’s the same spell I’m thinking of, I should be able to cast it,” Essek supplies, hoping to reassure his companion somewhat. “The only caveat is that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> need the components to be purchased as soon as we are able. I fear my own components are… unavailable at the moment,” he concludes, choosing his words carefully. Next to him, Caleb coughs and shifts uncomfortably in his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s tea!” Caduceus sweeps in with a tray, passing around cups and giving out sugar cubes and cream to those who ask for it before vanishing out of sight again with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Caduceus,” Fjord says as he’s leaving, taking a sip from the steaming drink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Essek examines the liquid curiously, finding it a lighter color than the blends he’s used to in his tower. Still, he doesn’t wish to be rude, and if Caleb’s reaction next to him is any indication, it’s worth guzzling down. He takes a small sip, entranced by the crisp, almost floral flavor, and quickly drinks more of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Fjord continues, cradling the floral patterned teacup in one hand. With his other, he summons the same deadly sharp, seafoam-dripping falchion that he had shown them earlier. “I’m more than happy to take the general knowledge for today, if you can provide it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb nods. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ja,</span>
  </em>
  <span> very well. Here, may I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fjord rises and hands the weapon over to him, keeping an eye on the gem—Essek is still hoping on some level that it’s just a gem—embedded in the hilt. Caleb sets it down on the desk and removes an ornate pearl and a long brown feather from his component pouch. He begins the spell by moving them both in a slow pattern over the blade, his fingers leaving faint, sparking trails through the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This will take me approximately eleven minutes,” Caleb explains without looking up. “But, then, you’ll have some answers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great.” Fjord collapses heavily back in his leather chair. “Great… Caduceus?” He turns toward the adjoining chamber, “while we’re waiting, would you mind preparing some better disguises for our esteemed guests? I think they could use a good freshening up, if nothing else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Caduceus rumbles, re-entering the main chambers with a congenial smile. “Here, why don’t you come with me while you’re waiting? I’m sure we can figure something out for you,” he says to Essek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Essek hesitates for a moment, reluctant to separate from Caleb if he can avoid it. He’s reasonably sure that these people don’t mean them harm at this point, but he’s painfully aware of the fact that Caleb is the primary reason he’s alive right now, and it would be remiss of him to neglect that. Still, some fresh clothes and a decent rest sound like a welcome change of pace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well,” he says as he rises, feet still firmly on the ground with how tired he is. “I’ll see you soon,” he says over his shoulder to Caleb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t expect a response—he’s intimately familiar with the focus that spellcraft requires, and he’s more saying it for Caleb’s benefit and to be polite—but to his surprise, Caleb diverts his attention for a split second to look up and smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ja,</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay,” he says softly. “See you soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes back to his work, and Essek’s throat is strangely tight as he turns to leave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Vier... drei... zwei... eins.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spell completes, and Caleb’s head swims a bit as the knowledge of this artifact floods it, miniscule though it is in the grand scheme of things. He leans back and blinks a bit as it all settles and he’s able to pull it together into something more coherent for his associate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The associate in question stands up as the spell ends, wringing his hands. “Well? Anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It, um…” Caleb shakes his head a bit as the dizziness ebbs. “It—this is a very… </span>
  <em>
    <span>interesting</span>
  </em>
  <span> weapon you wield, that much is certain.” He delicately lifts it into his hands, staring into the eye embedded in the guard of the sword. “This is the Sword of Fathoms. It, um… it is a magical weapon, and I believe that if you add more of </span>
  <em>
    <span>these—</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he taps the eye, more than half expecting it to blink, and fully surprised when it does not— “you may unlock more of its abilities. And, if you have any other weapons of a similar caliber, it can… eat them, for lack of a better word, and absorb their properties.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hands it back, hilt first, to Fjord, who takes it with a grim look and turns it over in his grip. “I see. I suspected some of that, but it’s good to know all the same. Thank you, by the way, I truly do appreciate it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re welcome. I can count on you to return the favor…?” It’s half statement and half question, more seeking confirmation of their original deal than anything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, of course,” Fjord says. He sighs and lets the sword vanish with another spray of seawater. “Caduceus is down the hall with your friend, you should probably get yourself dealt with as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb nods. “Thank you. Well, best of luck with your…” He trails off, not quite sure how to best phrase exactly what it was Fjord was stuck dealing with right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I think I’ll need it.” He extends a hand, and Caleb clasps it after a few confused moments. His social skills were dubious at the best of times, under the most normal of circumstances, so he allows himself a few missteps here given, well, everything he was dealing with. They shake and he turns down the hall to follow after where Essek and Caduceus had gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches the chambers in question and knocks on the door, wanting to save himself and Essek the embarrassment of him barging in without warning. Still, it’s Caduceus who calls out to tell him to enter, and so he does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, I am…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His sentence suddenly seems much less important than the view in front of him, which is of Essek standing with his arms out in front of a full body mirror while Caduceus holds a tape measure up to make the final modifications to his disguise. Until now he’s only seen Essek in the full body cloak he’s been wearing. But now, dressed in dark form fitting pants and an elegant silver top, complete with a vest that almost seems to shimmer in the candlelight… it throws him for a loop, that much he knows for sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Essek looks up and makes eye contact with him in the mirror, and Caleb curses himself as he scrambles to appear more put together than he currently is, willing the color in his face to dissipate. The last thing he needs or wants is to make Essek uncomfortable in some way, and he can imagine that his gaze wandering over his body like it had been would accomplish that fairly quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” Caleb squeaks, clearing his throat before trying again. “Here, I’m—I’m here now… um, as you can see.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, great,” Caduceus says, saving him from imminent death by humiliation as he hands a matching coat to Essek, who pulls it on with more speed than he might have if Caleb had not screwed everything up, he imagines. “Here, take a seat for a few minutes. I’ve got dinner cooking but there’s some food ready now if you want it, I can imagine you’re both hungry after all that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He mumbles something as he moves to take a seat, deliberately not looking in Essek’s direction any more than he has to. Thankfully, eating as many of the small crackers as he can provides him with a welcome distraction while he waits, and keeps him from dying inside from how embarrassed and guilty he now feels. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb could admit to himself that Essek was certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>attractive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’d have to be blind or foolish not to realize that, but that didn’t mean his thinking was welcome. Besides, he had more important things on his mind right now, not to mention someone else waiting for him. He couldn’t afford distractions of such a nature.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“..ster Caleb?” Caduceus says for what must be the umpteenth time, snapping him from his reverie. “It’s your turn if you’re up for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb snaps to attention. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ja, </span>
  </em>
  <span>um, I’m—sorry, I’m ready.” He stands up and brushes the crumbs off of himself, stepping quickly over to the arrangement of mirrors. Essek brushes past him to go sit down without making eye contact, the hem of the half-cape he’s now wearing catching on Caleb’s sleeve, and he almost doesn’t jump.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s great,” Caduceus says, either oblivious to his inner torment or ignoring it. “Here, why don’t you pick out something you think you’ll like, and I can change it up a bit for you if it needs fixing? That’s usually a good way to start.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb nods. “If you think that is best, then I can do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After plenty of rummaging through clothing racks and chests, he finds something he thinks will fit him: a long, dark cape lined with a red interior,  and a similarly tailored suit to match. Caleb steps behind the screen to change as quickly as he can, leaving his older dirt-stained outfit in a heap on the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Staring at the pile, he thinks not for the first time of his home and all he’s left behind, and how far he’s come in just barely a day, by his count. Nott would be missing him and worried sick, Pumat would have hired someone to replace him by now, Astrid would be… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> she be doing? Waiting for him? He’s starting to doubt that on some level. This far from… well, from everything he’s ever known, he has a fresh perspective of sorts. But he’s going to see this through to the end if he can. This wasn’t the time to start doubting, or giving up hope, not if there </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a chance that he could get some help trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fix</span>
  </em>
  <span> the mess he’s made. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head a bit, he adjusts his coat for the final time and walks out from behind the paneling into the view of Caduceus… and Essek, he realizes all too late, stopping a bit awkwardly halfway up to the small dais surrounded by the odd collection of mirrors. Essek however, seems preoccupied with re-affixing the number of earrings he wore back in their proper place, staring almost pointedly at his reflection in the vanity and not in Caleb’s direction. He’s taken aback by the pang of disappointment that he feels at that, but deliberately chooses not to dwell on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, there you are,” Caduceus says. “Alright, just step up on this—yeah, there you go, now hold still if you don’t mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb does just that as Caduceus begins pinning and trimming and measuring his outfit, making a variety of adjustments that Caleb assumes are necessary for the situation. He’s never exactly had clothes personally tailored to fit him before, so he’s unsure if this is something that he should welcome or protest. But, it’s surprisingly more soothing than he expected, so he goes along with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, if he does occasionally let his eyes flicker up at the mirror to his left, where he can see Essek reflected from across the room, then at least no one else is the wiser. And, if their eyes meet only to break away so quickly he can almost deny it happened, he’ll keep that to himself as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it looks like you’re all done. Should hold for now, at least until you’re done with your little trip and can get back here,” Caduceus says all too soon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb stares at his reflection, remarking at how cleaned up he now looks and feels. Caduceus had also done him the courtesy of somewhat healing his burned hand from the night before—which now feels like even more of a nonsensical blur of chaos and pain and fear. But, that’s another thing to compartmentalize and deal with later. They have work to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Caleb says with earnest. “This—we appreciate you all doing this for us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s really no bother,” Caduceus remarks as he helps Caleb step down, cape billowing behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chooses to drop the issue rather than press it. Better to repay this kindness with actions rather than words. “Well, now comes the hard part, correct?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caduceus nods as he hands Caleb a teacup from… somewhere. “Yeah, it does. We’ll dock with the Air Ashari in Tal’Dorei in a bit. Once we’re through the rift thingy, you two will disembark and come meet us in the compound itself, if I remember the plan and all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Caleb says. It calms him, going over the steps again even if he already knows them by heart. “What time will we arrive? With the Ashari, I mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, maybe a few hours. You two can relax until then if you want. It seemed like your escape was a little stressful, and I’ve got some potato and leek soup on the pot that’s almost ready.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That sounds wonderful,” Essek says as he rises from his chair, speaking for the first time. His gaze darts to Caleb and scans up and down for a split second, and Caleb’s cheeks do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> turn red in response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good! Glad to hear it. I’ll be back in a bit with a bowl for each of you, just sit tight until then” Caduceus calls out as he turns to leave, tail swishing behind him and pointing to the chairs next to the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are a few beats of awkward silence. Caleb fiddles with one of the buttons on his sleeves, trying to find the courage to talk to, or at least look at, Essek. Finally, after twenty-three seconds, he turns and takes a deep breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both stop, not wanting to speak over each other. Then Essek </span>
  <em>
    <span>giggles</span>
  </em>
  <span> slightly, and Caleb can’t help but start laughing as well, and the tension breaks as easily as it formed. Caleb is struck by the realization that he’s genuinely starting to </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> this person he’s found himself with, despite the increasing surrealism of their situation. It’s… confusing, for sure. Dangerous. He thinks he could get used to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Essek says, semi-dramatically extending a hand and inclining his head towards the table and chairs. “Shall we sit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb smiles as he takes it, marveling at the cool smoothness of Essek’s skin against his own. “Yes, we shall.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Shoutout to the CR Wiki for the Sword of Fathoms lore I'd forgotten, which I HOPE I incorporated properly here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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